Tb7 

11 
>c@L~,  B^OTB 


THE  LION  AND   THE   UNICORN 


Instead  .  .  .  buried  her  face  in  its  folds. 


The  Lion  and  the 
Unicorn 


BY 


RICHARD    HARDING    DAVIS 

if 


Illustrated  by 
H.    C.    CHRISTY 


NEW   YORK 

CHARLES   SCRIBNER'S   SONS 
1899 


Copyright,  1899 
BY  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


JOHN  WILSON  AND  SON,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


72V  MEMORY 

OF 

MANY    HOT    DAYS    AND    SOME    HOT    CORNERS 
THIS    BOOK    IS 

DEDICATED 

TO 
LT.-COL.   ARTHUR  H.    LEE,    R.A. 

British  Military  Attach/  'with  the  United 
States  Army 


M15595 


Contents 


PAGE 

THE  LION  AND  THE  UNICORN i 

ON  THE  FEVER  SHIP 72 

THE  MAN  WITH  ONE  TALENT 102 

THE  VAGRANT 146 

THE  LAST  RIDE  TOGETHER 193 


List  of  Illustrations 

Instead  .  .  .  buried  her  face  in  its  folds 

Frontispiece 

FACING    PAGE 

Consumed  tea  and  thin  slices  of  bread  .  .  10 

Saw  her  staring  down  at  the  tumult  ...  64 

"  Listen,"  he  said 9° 

"  You  are  like  a  ring  of  gamblers  around  a 

gamingtable" I4° 

The  young  man  stood  staring  up  at  the  white 

figure  of  the  girl l88 


The  Lion  and  the 
Unicorn 


TJRENTISS  had  a  long  lease  on  the  house, 
•••  and  because  it  stood  in  Jermyn  Street 
the  upper  floors  were,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
turned  into  lodgings  for  single  gentlemen  ;  and 
because  Prentiss  was  a  Florist  to  the  Queen, 
he  placed  a  lion  and  unicorn  over  his  flower- 
shop,  just  in  front  of  the  middle  window  on 
the  first  floor.  By  stretching  a  little,  each  of 
them  could  see  into  the  window  just  beyond 
him,  and  could  hear  all  that  was  said  inside ; 
and  such  things  as  they  saw  and  heard  during 
the  reign  of  Captain  Carrington,  who  moved 
in  at  the  same  time  they  did !  By  day  the 
table  in  the  centre  of  the  room  was  covered 
with  maps,  and  the  Captain  sat  with  a  box  of 
pins,  with  different-colored  flags  wrapped 
around  them,  and  amused  himself  by  stick 
ing  them  in  the  maps  and  measuring  the 


'The?  Libir-aucl  the  Unicorn 

spaces  in  between,  swearing  meanwhile  to 
himself.  It  was  a  selfish  amusement,  but  it 
appeared  to  be  the  Captain's  only  intellectual 
pursuit,  for  at  night,  the  maps  were  rolled 
up,  and  a  green  cloth  was  spread  across  the 
table,  and  there  was  much  company  and 
popping  of  soda-bottles,  and  little  heaps  of 
gold  and  silver  were  moved  this  way  and 
that  across  the  cloth.  The  smoke  drifted 
out  of  the  open  windows,  and  the  laughter 
of  the  Captain's  guests  rang  out  loudly  in 
the  empty  street,  so  that  the  policeman 
halted  and  raised  his  eyes  reprovingly  to 
the  lighted  windows,  and  cabmen  drew  up 
beneath  them  and  lay  in  wait,  dozing  on 
their  folded  arms,  for  the  Captain's  guests 
to  depart.  The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn  were 
rather  ashamed  of  the  scandal  of  it,  and  they 
were  glad  when,  one  day,  the  Captain  went 
away  with  his  tin  boxes  and  gun-cases  piled 
high  on  a  four-wheeler. 

Prentiss  stood  on  the  sidewalk  and  said: 
"  I  wish  you  good  luck,  sir."  And  the  Cap 
tain  said :  "  I  'm  coming  back  a  Major, 
Prentiss."  But  he  never  came  back.  And 
one  day  —  the  Lion  remembered  the  day 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

very  well,  for  on  that  same  day  the  newsboys 
ran  up  and  down  Jermyn  Street  shouting  out 
the  news  of  "  a  'orrible  disaster  "  to  the  Brit 
ish  arms.  It  was  then  that  a  young  lady  came 
to  the  door  in  a  hansom,  and  Prentiss  went 
out  to  meet  her  and  led  her  upstairs.  They 
heard  him  unlock  the  Captain's  door  and  say, 
"  This  is  his  room,  miss,"  and  after  he  had 
gone  they  watched  her  standing  quite  still  by 
the  centre  table.  She  stood  there  for  a  very 
long  time  looking  slowly  about  her,  and  then 
she  took  a  photograph  of  the  Captain  from 
the  frame  on  the  mantel  and  slipped  it  into 
her  pocket,  and  when  she  went  out  again  her 
veil  was  down,  and  she  was  crying.  She 
must  have  given  Prentiss  as  much  as  a  sover 
eign,  for  he  called  her  "  Your  ladyship," 
which  he  never  did  under  a  sovereign. 

And  she  drove  off,  and  they  never  saw  her 
again  either,  nor  could  they  hear  the  address 
she  gave  the  cabman.  But  it  was  somewhere 
up  St.  John's  Wood  way. 

After  that  the  rooms  were  empty  for  some 

months,  and  the  Lion  and  the  Unicorn  were 

forced  to  amuse  themselves  with  the  beautiful 

ladies  and  smart-looking  men  who  came  to 

3 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Prentiss  to  buy  flowers  and  "  buttonholes," 
and  the  little  round  baskets  of  strawberries, 
and  even  the  peaches  at  three  shillings  each, 
which  looked  so  tempting  as  they  lay  in  the 
window,  wrapped  up  in  cotton-wool,  like 
jewels  of  great  price. 

Then  Philip  Carroll,  the  American  gentle 
man,  came,  and  they  heard  Prentiss  telling 
him  that  those  rooms  had  always  let  for  five 
guineas  a  week,  which  they  knew  was  not 
true ;  but  they  also  knew  that  in  the  economy 
of  nations  there  must  always  be  a  higher 
price  for  the  rich  American,  or  else  why  was 
he  given  that  strange  accent,  except  to  betray 
him  into  the  hands  of  the  London  shopkeeper, 
and  the  London  cabby? 

The  American  walked  to  the  window 
toward  the  west,  which  was  the  window  near 
est  the  Lion,  and  looked  out  into  the  grave 
yard  of  St.  James's  Church,  that  stretched 
between  their  street  and  Piccadilly. 

"  You  're  lucky  in  having  a  bit  of  green  to 
look  out  on,"  he  said  to  Prentiss.  "  I  '11  take 
these  rooms  —  at  five  guineas.  That 's  more 
than  they're  worth,  you  know,  but  as  I  know 
it,  too,  your  conscience  needn't  trouble  you." 
4 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Then  his  eyes  fell  on  the  Lion,  and  he 
nodded  to  him  gravely.  "  How  do  you  do?  " 
he  said.  "  I  'm  coming  to  live  with  you  for 
a  little  time.  I  have  read  about  you  and  your 
friends  over  there.  It  is  a  hazard  of  new  for 
tunes  with  me,  your  Majesty,  so  be  kind  to 
me,  and  if  I  win,  I  will  put  a  new  coat  of  paint 
on  your  shield  and  gild  you  all  over  again." 

Prentiss  smiled  obsequiously  at  the  Ameri 
can's  pleasantry,  but  the  new  lodger  only 
stared  at  him. 

"  He  seemed  a  social  gentleman,"  said  the 
Unicorn,  that  night,  when  the  Lion  and  he 
were  talking  it  over.  "  Now  the  Captain,  the 
whole  time  he  was  here,  never  gave  us  so 
much  as  a  look.  This  one  says  he  has  read 
of  us." 

"And  why  not?"  growled  the  Lion.  "I 
hope  Prentiss  heard  what  he  said  of  our 
needing  a  new  layer  of  gilt.  It 's  disgraceful. 
You  can  see  that  Lion  over  Scarlett's,  the 
butcher,  as  far  as  Regent  Street,  and  Scarlett 
is  only  one  of  Salisbury's  creations.  He  re 
ceived  his  Letters-Patent  only  two  years  back. 
We  date  from  Palmerston." 

The  lodger  came  up  the  street  just  at  that 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

moment,  and  stopped  and  looked  up  at  the 
Lion  and  the  Unicorn  from  the  sidewalk,  be 
fore  he  opened  the  door  with  his  night-key. 
They  heard  him  enter  the  room  and  feel  on 
the  mantel  for  his  pipe,  and  a  moment  later 
he  appeared  at  the  Lion's  window  and  leaned 
on  the  sill,  looking  down  into  the  street  below 
and  blowing  whiffs  of  smoke  up  into  the  warm 
night-air. 

It  was  a  night  in  June,  and  the  pavements 
were  dry  under  foot  and  the  streets  were  filled 
with  well-dressed  people,  going  home  from 
the  play,  and  with  groups  of  men  in  black  and 
white,  making  their  way  to  supper  at  the 
clubs.  Hansoms  of  inky-black,  with  shining 
lamps  inside  and  out,  dashed  noiselessly  past 
on  mysterious  errands,  chasing  close  on  each 
other's  heels  on  a  mad  race,  each  to  its  sepa 
rate  goal.  From  the  cross  streets  rose  the 
noises  of  early  night,  the  rumble  of  the 
'buses,  the  creaking  of  their  brakes,  as  they 
unlocked,  the  cries  of  the  "  extras,"  and  the 
merging  of  thousands  of  human  voices  in  a 
dull  murmur.  The  great  world  of  London 
was  closing  its  shutters  for  the  night,  and  put 
ting  out  the  lights ;  and  the  new  lodger  from 
6 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

across  the  sea  listened  to  it  with  his  heart 
beating  quickly,  and  laughed  to  stifle  the 
touch  of  fear  and  homesickness  that  rose  in 
him. 

"  I  have  seen  a  great  play  to-night,"  he 
said  to  the  Lion,  "nobly  played  by  great 
players.  What  will  they  care  for  my  poor 
wares?  I  see  that  I  have  been  over-bold. 
But  we  cannot  go  back  now  —  not  yet." 

He  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and 
nodded  "  good-night  "  to  the  great  world  be 
yond  his  window.  "  What  fortunes  lie  with 
ye,  ye  lights  of  London  town?  "  he  quoted, 
smiling.  And  they  heard  him  close  the 
door  of  his  bedroom,  and  lock  it  for  the 
night. 

The  next  morning  he  bought  many  gera 
niums  from  Prentiss  and  placed  them  along 
the  broad  cornice  that  stretched  across  the 
front  of  the  house  over  the  shop  window. 
The  flowers  made  a  band  of  scarlet  on  either 
side  of  the  Lion  as  brilliant  as  a  Tommy's 
jacket. 

"  I  am  trying  to  propitiate  the  British  Lion 
by   placing   flowers   before    his    altar,"   the 
American  said  that  morning  to  a  visitor. 
7 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"  The  British  public  you  mean,"  said  the 
visitor ;  "  they  are  each  likely  to  tear  you  to 
pieces." 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  that  the  pit  on  the  first 
night  of  a  bad  play  is  something  awful," 
hazarded  the  American. 

"  Wait  and  see,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  American,  meekly. 

Every  one  who  came  to  the  first  floor  front 
talked  about  a  play.  It  seemed  to  be  some 
thing  of  great  moment  to  the  American.  It 
was  only  a  bundle  of  leaves  printed  in  red 
and  black  inks  and  bound  in  brown  paper 
covers.  There  were  two  of  them,  and  the 
American  called  them  by  different  names: 
one  was  his  comedy  and  one  was  his  tragedy. 

"They  are  both  likely  to  be  tragedies," 
the  Lion  heard  one  of  the  visitors  say  to 
another,  as  they  drove  away  together.  "  Our 
young  friend  takes  it  too  seriously." 

The  American  spent  most  of  his  time  by 
his  desk  at  the  window  writing  on  little  blue 
pads  and  tearing  up  what  he  wrote,  or  in 
reading  over  one  of  the  plays  to  himself  in  a 
loud  voice.  In  time  the  number  of  his  visi 
tors  increased,  and  to  some  of  these  he  would 
8 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

read  his  play ;  and  after  they  had  left  him  he 
was  either  depressed  and  silent  or  excited 
and  jubilant.  The  Lion  could  always  tell 
when  he  was  happy  because  then  he  would 
go  to  the  side  table  and  pour  himself  out  a 
drink  and  say,  "  Here  's  to  me,"  but  when  he 
was  depressed  he  would  stand  holding  the 
glass  in  his  hand,  and  finally  pour  the  liquor 
back  into  the  bottle  again  and  say,  "  What 's 
the  use  of  that  ?  " 

After  he  had  been  in  London  a  month  he 
wrote  less  and  was  more  frequently  abroad, 
sallying  forth  in  beautiful  raiment,  and  com 
ing  home  by  daylight. 

And  he  gave  suppers  too,  but  they  were 
less  noisy  than  the  Captain's  had  been,  and 
the  women  who  came  to  them  were  much 
more  beautiful,  and  their  voices  when  they 
spoke  were  sweet  and  low.  Sometimes  one 
of  the  women  sang,  and  the  men  sat  in  silence 
while  the  people  in  the  street  below  stopped 
to  listen,  and  would  say,  "  Why,  that  is  So- 
and-So  singing,"  and  the  Lion  and  the  Uni 
corn  wondered  how  they  could  know  who  it 
was  when  they  could  not  see  her. 

The  lodger's  visitors  came  to  see  him  at  all 
9 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

hours.  They  seemed  to  regard  his  rooms  as 
a  club,  where  they  could  always  come  for  a 
bite  to  eat  or  to  write  notes;  and  others 
treated  it  like  a  lawyer's  office  and  asked  ad 
vice  on  all  manner  of  strange  subjects. 
Sometimes  the  visitor  wanted  to  know  whether 
the  American  thought  she  ought  to  take  .£10 
a  week  and  go  on  tour,  or  stay  in  town  and 
try  to  live  on  ^8;  or  whether  she  should 
paint  landscapes  that  would  not  sell,  or  race 
horses  that  would ;  or  whether  Reggie  really 
loved  her  and  whether  she  really  loved 
Reggie ;  or  whether  the  new  part  in  the  piece 
at  the  Court  was  better  than  the  old  part  at 
Terry's,  and  was  n't  she  getting  too  old  to 
play  "  ingenues  "  anyway. 

The  lodger  seemed  to  be  a  general  adviser, 
and  smoked  and  listened  with  grave  consider 
ation,  and  the  Unicorn  thought  his  judgment 
was  most  sympathetic  and  sensible. 

Of  all  the  beautiful  ladies  who  came  to  call 
on  the  lodger  the  one  the  Unicorn  liked 
the  best  was  the  one  who  wanted  to  know 
whether  she  loved  Reggie  and  whether  Reg 
gie  loved  her.  She  discussed  this  so  inter 
estingly  while  she  consumed  tea  and  thin 
10 


Consumed  tea  and  thin  slices  of  bread. 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

slices  of  bread  that  the  Unicorn  almost  lost 
his  balance  in  leaning  forward  to  listen.  Her 
name  was  Marion  Cavendish  and  it  was 
written  over  many  photographs  which  stood 
in  silver  frames  in  the  lodger's  rooms.  She 
used  to  make  the  tea  herself,  while  the  lodger 
sat  and  smoked ;  and  she  had  a  fascinating 
way  of  doubling  the  thin  slices  of  bread  into 
long  strips  and  nibbling  at  them  like  a  mouse 
at  a  piece  of  cheese.  She  had  wonderful 
little  teeth  and  Cupid's-bow  lips,  and  she  had 
a  fashion  of  lifting  her  veil  only  high  enough 
for  one  to  see  the  two  Cupid-bow  lips.  When 
she  did  that  the  American  used  to  laugh,  at 
nothing  apparently,  and  say,  "  Oh,  I  guess 
Reggie  loves  you  well  enough." 

"But  do  I  love  Reggie?"  she  would  ask 
sadly,  with  her  tea-cup  held  poised  in  air. 

"  I  am  sure  I  hope  not,"  the  lodger  would 
reply,  and  she  would  put  down  the  veil 
quickly,  as  one  would  drop  a  curtain  over  a 
beautiful  picture,  and  rise  with  great  dignity 
and  say,  "  if  you  talk  like  that  I  shall  not 
come  again." 

She  was  sure  that  if  she  could  only  get 
some  work  to  do  her  head  would  be  filled 
ii 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

with  more  important   matters  than  whether 
Reggie  loved  her  or  not. 

"  But  the  managers  seem  inclined  to  cut 
their  cavendish  very  fine  just  at  present,"  she 
said.  "  If  I  don't  get  a  part  soon,"  she  an 
nounced,  "I  shall  ask  Mitchell  to  put  me 
down  on  the  list  for  recitations  at  evening 
parties." 

"  That  seems  a  desperate  revenge,"  said  the 
American;  "  and  besides,  I  don't  want  you 
to  get  a  part,  because  some  one  might  be 
idiotic  enough  to  take  my  comedy,  and  if  he 
should,  you  must  play  Nancy'' 

"  I  would  not  ask  for  any  salary  if  I  could 
play  Nancy"  Miss  Cavendish  answered. 

They  spoke  of  a  great  many  things,  but 
their  talk  always  ended  by  her  saying  that 
there  must  be  some  one  with  sufficient  sense 
to  see  that  his  play  was  a  great  play,  and  by 
his  saying  that  none  but  she  must  play  Nancy. 

The  Lion  preferred  the  tall  girl  with  masses 
and  folds  of  brown  hair,  who  came  from 
America  to  paint  miniatures  of  the  British 
aristocracy.  Her  name  was  Helen  Cabot, 
and  he  liked  her  because  she  was  so  brave 
and  fearless,  and  so  determined  to  be  inde- 

12 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

pendent  of  every  one,  even  of  the  lodger  — 
especially  of  the  lodger,  who  it  appeared  had 
known  her  very  well  at  home.  The  lodger, 
they  gathered,  did  not  wish  her  to  be  inde 
pendent  of  him  and  the  two  Americans  had 
many  arguments  and  disputes  about  it,  but 
she  always  said,  "  It  does  no  good,  Philip ; 
it  only  hurts  us  both  when  you  talk  so.  I 
care  for  nothing,  and  for  no  one  but  my  art, 
and,  poor  as  it  is,  it  means  everything  to  me, 
and  you  do  not,  and,  of  course,  the  man  I  am 
to  marry,  must."  Then  Carroll  would  talk, 
walking  up  and  down,  and  looking  very  fierce 
and  determined,  and  telling  her  how  he  loved 
her  in  such  a  way  that  it  made  her  look  even 
more  proud  and  beautiful.  And  she  would 
say  more  gently,  "  It  is  very  fine  to  think  that 
any  one  can  care  for  like  that,  and  very 
helpful.  But  unless  I  cared  in  the  same  way 
it  would  be  wicked  of  me  to  marry  you,  and 
besides  —  "  She  would  add  very  quickly 
to  prevent  his  speaking  again  —  "I  don't 
want  to  marry  you  or  anybody,  and  I  never 
shall.  I  want  to  be  free  and  to  succeed  in 
my  work,  just  as  you  want  to  succeed  in  your 
work.  So  please  never  speak  of  this  again." 
13 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

When  she  went  away  the  lodger  used  to  sit 
smoking  in  the  big  arm-chair  and  beat  the 
arms  with  his  hands,  and  he  would  pace  up 
and  down  the  room  while  his  work  would 
lie  untouched  and  his  engagements  pass 
forgotten. 

Summer  came  and  London  was  deserted, 
dull,  and  dusty,  but  the  lodger  stayed  on  in 
Jermyn  Street.  Helen  Cabot  had  departed 
on  a  round  of  visits  to  country  houses  in 
Scotland,  where,  as  she  wrote  him,  she  was 
painting  miniatures  of  her  hosts  and  studying 
the  game  of  golf.  Miss  Cavendish  divided 
her  days  between  the  river  and  one  of  the 
West  End  theatres.  She  was  playing  a  small 
part  in  a  farce-comedy. 

One  day  she  came  up  from  Cookham  ear 
lier  than  usual,  looking  very  beautiful  in  a 
white  boating  frock  and  a  straw  hat  with  a 
Leander  ribbon.  Her  hands  and  arms  were 
hard  with  dragging  a  punting  pole  and  she 
was  sunburnt  and  happy,  and  hungry  for 
tea. 

"  Why  don't  you  come  down  to  Cookham 
and  get  out  of  this  heat?"  Miss  Cavendish 
asked.  "  You  need  it ;  you  look  ill." 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"  I'd  like  to,  but  I  can't,"  said  Carroll.  "  The 
fact  is,  I  paid  in  advance  for  these  rooms,  and 
if  I  lived  anywhere  else  I'd  be  losing  five 
guineas  a  week  on  them." 

Miss  Cavendish  regarded  him  severely.  She 
had  never  quite  mastered  his  American 
humor. 

"  But  —  five  guineas  —  why  that 's  nothing 
to  you,"  she  said.  Something  in  the  lodger's 
face  made  her  pause.  "  You  don't  mean " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  lodger,  smiling. 
"  You  see,  I  started  in  to  lay  siege  to  London 
without  sufficient  ammunition.  London  is  a 
large  town,  and  it  did  n't  fall  as  quickly  as  I 
thought  it  would.  So  I  am  economizing. 
Mr.  Lockhart's  Coffee  Rooms  and  I  are  no 
longer  strangers." 

Miss  Cavendish  put  down  her  cup  of  tea 
untasted  and  leaned  toward  him. 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  she  asked.  "For 
how  long?" 

"  Oh,  for  the  last  month,"  replied  the 
lodger  ;  "  they  are  not  at  all  bad  —  clean 
and  wholesome  and  all  that." 

"  But  the  suppers  you  gave  us,  and  this," 
she  cried,  suddenly,  waving  her  hands  over 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

the  pretty  tea-things,  "  and  the  cake  and 
muffins?" 

"  My  friends,  at  least,"  said  Carroll,  "  need 
not  go  to  Lockhart's." 

"And  the  Savoy?"  asked  Miss  Cavendish, 
mournfully  shaking  her  head. 

"  A  dream  of  the  past,"  said  Carroll,  waving 
his  pipe  through  the  smoke.  "  Gatti's  ?  Yes, 
on  special  occasions ;  but  for  necessity,  the 
Chancellor's,  where  one  gets  a  piece  of  the 
prime  roast  beef  of  Old  England,  from  Chi 
cago,  and  potatoes  for  ninepence  —  a  pot  of 
bitter  twopence-halfpenny,  and  a  penny  for 
the  waiter.  It's  most  amnsing  on  the  whole. 
I  am  learning  a  little  about  London,  and  some 
things  about  myself.  They  are  both  most 
interesting  subjects." 

"Well,  I  don't  like  it,"  Miss  Cavendish 
declared  helplessly.  "  When  I  think  of  those 
suppers  and  the  flowers,  I  feel  —  I  feel  like  a 
robber." 

"Don't,"  begged  Carroll.  "I  am  really 
the  most  happy  of  men  —  that  is,  as  the  chap 
says  in  the  play,  I  would  be  if  I  was  n't  so 
damned  miserable.  But  I  owe  no  man  a 
penny  and  I  have  assets  —  I  have  ,£80  to  last 
16 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

me  through  the  winter  and  two  marvellous 
plays ;  and  I  love,  next  to  yourself,  the  most 
wonderful  woman  God  ever  made.  That 's 
enough." 

"  But  I  thought  you  made  such  a  lot  of 
money  by  writing?  "  asked  Miss  Cavendish. 

"  I  do  —  that  is,  I  could,"  answered  Carroll, 
"  if  I  wrote  the  things  that  sell ;  but  I  keep 
on  writing  plays  that  won't." 

"  And  such  plays !  "  exclaimed  Marion, 
warmly;  "  and  to  think  that  they  are  going 
begging."  She  continued  indignantly,  "  I 
can't  imagine  what  the  managers  do  want" 

"  I  know  what  they  don't  want,"  said  the 
American.  Miss  Cavendish  drummed  im 
patiently  on  the  tea-tray. 

"  I  wish  you  would  n't  be  so  abject  about 
it,"  she  said.  "  If  I  were  a  man  I  'd  make 
them  take  those  plays." 

"How?"  asked  the  American;  "with  a 
gun?" 

"  Well,  I  'd  keep  at  it  until  they  read  them," 
declared  Marion.  "  I  'd  sit  on  their  front 
steps  all  night  and  I  ?d  follow  them  in  cabs, 
and  I  'd  lie  in  wait  for  them  at  the  stage-door. 
I  'd  just  make  them  take  them." 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Carroll  sighed  and  stared  at  the  ceiling. 
"  I  guess  I  '11  give  up  and  go  home,"  he  said. 

"  Oh,  yes,  do,  run  away  before  you  are 
beaten,"  said  Miss  Cavendish,  scornfully. 
"Why,  you  can't  go  now.  Everybody  will 
be  back  in  town  soon,  and  there  are  a  lot  of 
new  plays  coming  on,  and  some  of  them  are 
sure  to  be  failures,  and  that's  our  chance. 
You  rush  in  with  your  piece  and  somebody 
may  take  it  sooner  than  close  the  theatre." 

"  I  'm  thinking  of  closing  the  theatre  my 
self,"  said  Carroll.  "  What 's  the  use  of  my 
hanging  on  here?"  he  exclaimed.  "It  dis 
tresses  Helen  to  know  I  am  in  London,  feel 
ing  about  her  as  I  do  —  and  the  Lord  only 
knows  how  it  distresses  me.  And,  maybe,  if 
I  went  away,"  he  said,  consciously,  "  she 
might  miss  me.  She  might  see  the  differ 
ence." 

Miss  Cavendish  held  herself  erect  and 
pressed  her  lips  together  with  a  severe  smile. 
"  If  Helen  Cabot  does  n't  see  the  difference  be 
tween  you  and  the  other  men  she  knows  now," 
she  said,  "  I  doubt  if  she  ever  will.  Be 
sides —  "  she  continued,  and  then  hesitated. 

"  Well,  go  on,"  urged  Carroll. 
18 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"Well,  I  was  only  going  to  say,"  she  ex 
plained,  "  that  leaving  the  girl  alone  never 
did  the  man  any  good  unless  he  left  her 
alone  willingly.  If  she 's  sure  he  still  cares, 
it's  just  the  same  to  her  where  he  is.  He 
might  as  well  stay  on  in  London  as  go  to 
South  Africa.  It  won't  help  him  any.  The 
difference  comes  when  she  finds  he  has 
stopped  caring.  Why,  look  at  Reggie.  He 
tried  that.  He  went  away  for  ever  so  long, 
but  he  kept  writing  me  from  wherever  he 
went,  so  that  he  was  perfectly  miserable  — 
and  I  went  on  enjoying  myself.  Then  when 
he  came  back,  he  tried  going  about  with  his 
old  friends  again.  He  used  to  come  to  the 
theatre  with  them  —  oh,  with  such  nice  girls 
—  but  he  always  stood  in  the  back  of  the 
box  and  yawned  and  scowled  —  so  I  knew. 
And,  anyway,  he'd  always  spoil  it  all  by 
leaving  them  and  waiting  at  the  stage  en 
trance  for  me.  But  one  day  he  got  tired  of 
the  way  I  treated  him  and  went  off  on  a 
bicycle  tour  with  Lady  Hacksher's  girls  and 
some  men  from  his  regiment,  and  he  was  gone 
three  weeks  and  never  sent  me  even  a  line ; 
and  I  got  so  scared  ;  I  could  n't  sleep,  and  I 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

stood  it  for  three  days  more,  and  then  I  wired 
him  to  come  back  or  I  'd  jump  off  London 
Bridge;  and  he  came  back  that  very  night 
from  Edinburgh  on  the  express,  and  I  was 
so  glad  to  see  him  that  I  got  confused,  and 
in  the  general  excitemerft  I  promised  to 
marry  him,  so  that 's  how  it  was  with  us." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  American,  without  en 
thusiasm;  "but  then  I  still  care,  and  Helen 
knows  I  care." 

"  Does  n't  she  ever  fancy  that  you  might 
care  for  some  one  else?  You  have  a  lot  of 
friends,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  but  she  knows  they  are  just  that  — 
friends,"  said  the  American. 

Miss  Cavendish  stood  up  to  go,  and  ar 
ranged  her  veil  before  the  mirror  above  the 
fireplace. 

"  I  come  here  very  often  to  tea,"  she  said. 

"  It 's  very  kind  of  you,"  said  Carroll.  He 
was  at  the  open  window,  looking  down  into 
the  street  for  a  cab. 

"  Well,  no  one  knows  I  am  engaged  to 
Reggie,"  continued  Miss  Cavendish,  "  except 
you  and  Reggie,  and  he  is  n't  so  sure.  She 
does  n't  know  it." 

20 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"Well?"  said  Carroll. 

Miss  Cavendish  smiled  a  mischievous  kindly 
smile  at  him  from  the  mirror. 

"Well?"  she  repeated,  mockingly.  Car 
roll  stared  at  her  and  laughed.  After  a  pause 
he  said  :  "  It 's  like  a  plot  in  a  comedy.  But 
I  'm  afraid  I  'm  too  serious  for  play-acting." 

"  Yes,  it  is  serious,"  said  Miss  Cavendish. 
She  seated  herself  again  and  regarded  the 
American  thoughtfully.  "  You  are  too  good 
a  man  to  be  treated  the  way  that  girl  is  treat 
ing  you,  and  no  one  knows  it  better  than  she 
does.  She  '11  change  in  time,  but  just  now 
she  thinks  she  wants  to  be  independent. 
She  's  in  love  with  this  picture-painting  idea, 
and  with  the  people  she  meets.  It's  all  new 
to  her  —  the  fuss  they  make  over  her  and  the 
titles,  and  the  way  she  is  asked  about.  We 
know  she  can't  paint.  We  know  they  only 
give  her  commissions  because  she 's  so  young 
and  pretty,  and  American.  She  amuses  them, 
that 's  all.  Well,  that  cannot  last;  she'll  find 
it  out.  She  's  too  clever  a  girl,  and  she  is  too 
fine  a  girl  to  be  content  with  that  long.  Then 
—  then  she'll  come  back  to  you.  She  feels 
now  that  she  has  both  you  and  the  others, 

21 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

and  she 's  making  you  wait :  so  wait  and  be 
cheerful.  She 's  worth  waiting  for ;  she 's 
young,  that's  all.  She'll  see  the  difference 
in  time.  But,  in  the  meanwhile,  it  would 
hurry  matters  a  bit  if  she  thought  she  had 
to  choose  between  the  new  friends  and 
you." 

"  She  could  still  keep  her  friends,  and 
marry  me,"  said  Carroll ;  "  I  have  told  her 
that  a  hundred  times.  She  could  still  paint 
miniatures  and  marry  me.  But  she  won't 
marry  me." 

"  She  won't  marry  you  because  she  knows 
she  can  whenever  she  wants  to,"  cried  Marion. 
"  Can't  you  see  that?  But  if  she  thought  you 
were  going  to  marry  some  one  else  now?" 

"  She  would  be  the  first  to  congratulate 
me,"  said  Carroll.  He  rose  and  walked  to 
the  fireplace,  where  he  leaned  with  his  arm 
on  the  mantel.  There  was  a  photograph  of 
Helen  Cabot  near  his  hand,  and  he  turned 
this  toward  him  and  stood  for  some  time 
staring  at  it.  "  My  dear  Marion,"  he  said  at 
last,  "  I  Ve  known  Helen  ever  since  she  was 
as  young  as  that.  Every  year  I  Ve  loved 
her  more,  and  found  new  things  in  her  to 

22 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

care  for  ;  now  I  love  her  more  than  any 
other  man  ever  loved  any  other  woman." 

Miss  Cavendish  shook  her  head  sympa 
thetically. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  she  said  ;  "  that 's  the  way 
Reggie  loves  me,  too." 

Carroll  went  on  as  though  he  had  not 
heard  her. 

"  There 's  a  bench  in  St.  James's  Park," 
he  said,  "  where  we  used  to  sit  when  she  first 
came  here,  when  she  did  n't  know  so  many 
people.  We  used  to  go  there  in  the  morn 
ing  and  throw  penny  buns  to  the  ducks. 
That's  been  my  amusement  this  summer 
since  you  Ve  all  been  away —  sitting  on  that 
bench,  feeding  penny  buns  to  the  silly  ducks 
—  especially  the  black  one,  the  one  she 
used  to  like  best.  And  I  make  pilgrimages 
to  all  the  other  places  we  ever  visited  to 
gether,  and  try  to  pretend  she  is  with  me. 
And  I  support  the  crossing  sweeper  at 
Lansdowne  Passage  because  she  once  said 
she  felt  sorry  for  him.  I  do  all  the  other 
absurd  things  that  a  man  in  love  tortures 
himself  by  doing.  But  to  what  end?  She 
knows  how  I  care,  and  yet  she  won't  see  why 
23 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

we  can't  go  on  being  friends  as  we  once  were. 
What's  the  use  of  it  all?" 

"  She  is  young,  I  tell  you,"  repeated  Miss 
Cavendish,  "  and  she 's  too  sure  of  you. 
You  Ve  told  her  you  care ;  now  try  making 
her  think  you  don't  care." 

Carroll  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

"  I  will  not  stoop  to  such  tricks  and  pre 
tence,  Marion,"  he  cried  impatiently.  "  All 
I  have  is  my  love  for  her ;  if  I  have  to  cheat 
and  to  trap  her  into  caring,  the  whole  thing 
would  be  degraded." 

Miss  Cavendish  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  walked  to  the  door.  "  Such  amateurs !  " 
she  exclaimed,  and  banged  the  door  after  her. 

Carroll  never  quite  knew  how  he  had  come 
to  make  a  confidante  of  Miss  Cavendish. 
Helen  and  he  had  met  her  when  they  first 
arrived  in  London,  and  as  she  had  acted  for 
a  season  in  the  United  States,  she  adopted 
the  two  Americans  —  and  told  Helen  where 
to  go  for  boots  and  hats,  and  advised  Carroll 
about  placing  his  plays.  Helen  soon  made 
other  friends,  and  deserted  the  artists,  with 
whom  her  work  had  first  thrown  her.  She 
seemed  to  prefer  the  society  of  the  people 
24 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

who  bought  her  paintings,  and  who  admired 
and  made  much  of  the  painter.  As  she  was 
very  beautiful  and  at  an  age  when  she  en 
joyed  everything  in  life  keenly  and  eagerly, 
to  give  her  pleasure  was  in  itself  a  distinct 
pleasure;  and  the  worldly  tired  people  she 
met  were  considering  their  own  entertainment 
quite  as  much  as  hers  when  they  asked  her 
to  their  dinners  and  dances,  or  to  spend  a 
week  with  them  in  the  country.  In  her  way, 
she  was  as  independent  as  was  Carroll  in  his, 
and  as  she  was  not  in  love,  as  he  was,  her  life 
was  not  narrowed  down  to  but  one  ideal.  But 
she  was  not  so  young  as  to  consider  herself 
infallible,  and  she  had  one  excellent  friend 
on  whom  she  was  dependent  for  advice  and 
to  whose  directions  she  submitted  implicitly. 
This  was  Lady  Gower,  the  only  person  to 
whom  Helen  had  spoken  of  Carroll  and  of 
his  great  feeling  for  her.  Lady  Gower,  im 
mediately  after  her  marriage,  had  been  a 
conspicuous  and  brilliant  figure  in  that  set  in 
London  which  works  eighteen  hours  a  day  to 
keep  itself  amused,  but  after  the  death  of  her 
husband  she  had  disappeared  into  the  coun 
try  as  completely  as  though  she  had  entered 
25 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

a  convent,  and  after  several  years  had  then 
re-entered  the  world  as  a  professional  philan 
thropist.  Her  name  was  now  associated 
entirely  with  Women's  Leagues,  with  commit 
tees  that  presented  petitions  to  Parliament, 
and  with  public  meetings,  at  which  she  spoke 
with  marvellous  ease  and  effect.  Her  old 
friends  said  she  had  taken  up  this  new  pose 
as  an  outlet  for  her  nervous  energies,  and  as 
an  effort  to  forget  the  man  who  alone  had 
made  life  serious  to  her.  Others  knew  her  as 
an  earnest  woman,  acting  honestly  for  what 
she  thought  was  right.  Her  success,  all  ad 
mitted,  was  due  to  her  knowledge  of  the  world 
and  to  her  sense  of  humor,  which  taught  her 
with  whom  to  use  her  wealth  and  position, 
and  when  to  demand  what  she  wanted  solely 
on  the  ground  that  the  cause  was  just. 

She  had  taken  more  than  a  fancy  for  Helen, 
and  the  position  of  the  beautiful,  motherless 
girl  had  appealed  to  her  as  one  filled  with 
dangers.  When  she  grew  to  know  Helen 
better,  she  recognized  that  these  fears  were 
quite  unnecessary,  and  as  she  saw  more  of  her 
she  learned  to  care  for  her  deeply.  Helen 
had  told  her  much  of  Carroll  and  of  his 
26 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

double  purpose  in  coming  to  London;  of  his 
brilliant  work  and  his  lack  of  success  in  hav 
ing  it  recognized  ;  and  of  his  great  and  loyal 
devotion  to  her,  and  of  his  lack  of  success, 
not  in  having  that  recognized,  but  in  her 
own  inability  to  return  it.  Helen  was  proud 
that  she  had  been  able  to  make  Carroll  care 
for  her  as  he  did,  and  that  there  was  anything 
about  her  which  could  inspire  a  man  whom 
she  admired  so  much,  to  believe  in  her  so 
absolutely  and  for  so  long  a  time.  But  what 
convinced  her  that  the  outcome  for  which  he 
hoped  was  impossible,  was  the  very  fact  that 
she  could  admire  him,  and  see  how  fine  and 
unselfish  his  love  for  her  was,  and  yet  remain 
untouched  by  it. 

She  had  been  telling  Lady  Gower  one  day 
of  the  care  he  had  taken  of  her  ever  since  she 
was  fourteen  years  of  age,  and  had  quoted 
some  of  the  friendly  and  loverlike  acts  he 
had  performed  in  her  service,  until  one  day 
they  had  both  found  out  that  his  attitude  of 
the  elder  brother  was  no  longer  possible,  and 
that  he  loved  her  in  the  old  and  only  way. 
Lady  Gower  looked  at  her  rather  doubtfully 
and  smiled. 

27 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"  I  wish  you  would  bring  him  to  see  me, 
Helen"  she  said;  "I  think  I  should  like 
your  friend  very  much.  From  what  you  tell 
me  of  him  I  doubt  if  you  will  find  many 
such  men  waiting  for  you  in  this  country. 
Our  men  marry  for  reasons  of  property,  or 
they  love  blindly,  and  are  exacting  and  sel 
fish  before  and  after  they  are  married.  I 
know,  because  so  many  women  came  to  me 
when  my  husband  was  alive  to  ask  how  it 
was  that  I  continued  so  happy  in  my  married 
life." 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  marry  any  one," 
Helen  remonstrated  gently.  "  American  girls 
are  not  always  thinking  only  of  getting 
married." 

"  What  I  meant  was  this,"  said  Lady  Gower, 
"  that,  in  my  experience,  I  have  heard  of 
but  few  men  who  care  in  the  way  this  young 
man  seems  to  care  for  you.  You  say  you  do 
not  love  him ;  but  if  he  had  wanted  to  gain 
my  interest,  he  could  not  have  pleaded  his 
cause  better  than  you  have  done.  He  seems 
to  see  your  faults  and  yet  love  you  still,  in 
spite  of  them  —  or  on  account  of  them.  And 
I  like  the  things  he  does  for  you.  I  like,  for 
28 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

instance,  his  sending  you  the  book  of  the 
moment  every  week  for  two  years.  That 
shows  a  most  unswerving  spirit  of  devotion. 
And  the  story  of  the  broken  bridge  in  the 
woods  is  a  wonderful  story.  If  I  were  a 
young  girl,  I  could  love  a  man  for  that  alone. 
It  was  a  beautiful  thing  to  do." 

Helen  sat  with  her  chin  on  her  hands, 
deeply  considering  this  new  point  of  view. 

"  I  thought  it  very  foolish  of  him,"  she 
confessed  questioningly,  "  to  take  such  a  risk 
for  such  a  little  thing." 

Lady  Gower  smiled  down  at  her  from  the 
height  of  her  many  years.  . 

"Wait,"  she  said  dryly,  "you  are  very 
young  now  —  and  very  rich ;  every  one  is 
crowding  to  give  you  pleasure,  to  show  his 
admiration.  You  are  a  very  fortunate  girl. 
But  later,  these  things  which  some  man  has 
done  because  he  loved  you,  and  which  you 
call  foolish,  will  grow  large  in  your  life,  and 
shine  out  strongly,  and  when  you  are  dis 
couraged  and  alone,  you  will  take  them  out, 
and  the  memory  of  them  will  make  you 
proud  and  happy.  They  are  the  honors 
which  women  wear  in  secret." 
29 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Helen  came  back  to  town  in  September, 
and  for  the  first  few  days  was  so  occupied  in 
refurnishing  her  studio  and  in  visiting  the 
shops  that  she  neglected  to  send  Carroll 
word  of  her  return.  When  she  found  that 
a  whole  week  had  passed  without  her  having 
made  any  effort  to  see  him,  and  appreciated 
how  the  fact  would  hurt  her  friend,  she  was 
filled  with  remorse,  and  drove  at  once  in 
great  haste  to  Jermyn  Street,  to  announce 
her  return  in  person.  On  the  way  she  de 
cided  that  she  would  soften  the  blow  of  her 
week  of  neglect  by  asking  him  to  take  her 
out  to  luncheon.  This  privilege  she  had 
once  or  twice  accorded  him,  and  she  felt 
that  the  pleasure  these  excursions  gave 
Carroll  were  worth  the  consternation  they 
caused  to  Lady  Gower. 

The  servant  was  uncertain  whether  Mr. 
Carroll  was  at  home  or  not,  but  Helen  was 
too  intent  upon  making  restitution  to  wait 
for  the  fact  to  be  determined,  and,  running 
up  the  stairs,  knocked  sharply  at  the  door 
of  his  study. 

A  voice  bade  her  come  in,  and  she  en 
tered,  radiant  and  smiling  her  welcome.  But 
3° 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Carroll  was  not  there  to  receive  it,  and 
instead,  Marion  Cavendish  looked  up  at  her 
from  his  desk  where  she  was  busily  writing. 
Helen  paused  with  a  surprised  laugh,  but 
Marion  sprang  up  and  hailed  her  gladly. 
They  met  half  way  across  the  room  and 
kissed  each  other  with  the  most  friendly 
feeling. 

Philip  was  out,  Marion  said,  and  she  had 
just  stepped  in  for  a  moment  to  write  him 
a  note.  If  Helen  would  excuse  her,  she 
would  finish  it,  as  she  was  late  for  rehearsal. 

But  she  asked  over  her  shoulder,  with 
great  interest,  if  Helen  had  passed  a  pleasant 
summer.  She  thought  she  had  never  seen 
her  looking  so  well.  Helen  thought  Miss 
Cavendish  herself  was  looking  very  well  also, 
but  Marion  said  no ;  that  she  was  too  sun 
burnt,  she  would  not  be  able  to  wear  a 
dinner-dress  for  a  month.  There  was  a  pause 
while  Marion's  quill  scratched  violently 
across  Carroll's  note-paper.  Helen  felt  that 
in  some  way  she  \vas  being  treated  as  an 
intruder ;  or  worse,  as  a  guest.  She  did  not 
sit  down,  it  seemed  impossible  to  do  so,  but 
she  moved  uncertainly  about  the  room.  She 
3* 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

noted  that  there  were  many  changes,  it 
seemed  more  bare  and  empty;  her  picture 
was  still  on  the  writing-desk,  but  there  were 
at  least  six  new  photographs  of  Marion. 
Marion  herself  had  brought  them  to  the 
room  that  morning,  and  had  carefully  ar 
ranged  them  in  conspicuous  places.  But 
Helen  could  not  know  that.  She  thought 
there  was  an  unnecessary  amount  of  writing 
scribbled  over  the  face  of  each. 

Marion  addressed  her  letter  and  wrote 
"  Immediate "  across  the  envelope,  and 
placed  it  before  the  clock  on  the  mantel 
shelf.  "You  will  find  Philip  looking  very 
badly,"  she  said,  as  she  pulled  on  her  gloves. 
"  He  has  been  in  town  all  summer,  working 
very  hard  —  he  has  had  no  holiday  at  all.  I 
don't  think  he's  well.  I  have  been  a  great 
deal  worried  about  him,"  she  added.  Her 
face  was  bent  over  the  buttons  of  her  glove, 
and  when  she  raised  her  blue  eyes  to  Helen 
they  were  filled  with  serious  concern. 

"  Really,"  Helen  stammered,  "  I  —  I  did  n't 
know — in  his  letters  he  seemed  very  cheer 
ful." 

Marion  shook  her  head  and  turned  and 
32 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

stood  looking  thoughtfully  out  of  the  win 
dow.  "  He 's  in  a  very  hard  place,"  she 
began  abruptly,  and  then  stopped  as  though 
she  had  thought  better  of  what  she  intended 
to  say.  Helen  tried  to  ask  her  to  go  on,  but 
could  not  bring  herself  to  do  so.  She  wanted 
to  get  away. 

"  I  tell  him  he  ought  to  leave  London," 
Marion  began  again ;  "  he  needs  a  change 
and  a  rest." 

"  I  should  think  he  might,"  Helen  agreed, 
"  after  three  months  of  this  heat.  He  wrote 
me  he  intended  going  to  Herne  Bay  or  over 
to  Ostend." 

"Yes,  he  had  meant  to  go,"  Marion 
answered.  She  spoke  with  the  air  of  one 
who  possessed  the  most  intimate  knowledge 
of  Carroll's  movements  and  plans,  and  change 
of  plans.  "But  he  couldn't,"  she  added. 
"He  couldn't  afford  it.  Helen,"  she  said, 
turning  to  the  other  girl,  dramatically,  "  do 
you  know  —  I  believe  that  Philip  is  very 
poor." 

Miss  Cabot  exclaimed  incredulously, 
"  Poor  !  "  She  laughed.  "  Why,  what  do  you 
mean?  " 

3  33 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"  I  mean  that  he  has  no  money,"  Marion 
answered,  sharply.  "  These  rooms  represent 
nothing.  He  only  keeps  them  on  because 
he  paid  for  them  in  advance.  He's  been 
living  on  three  shillings  a  day.  That 's  poor 
for  him.  He  takes  his  meals  at  cabmen's 
shelters  and  at  Lockhart's,  and  he's  been 
doing  so  for  a  month." 

Helen  recalled  with  a  guilty  thrill  the 
receipt  of  certain  boxes  of  La  France  roses 
—  cut  long,  in  the  American  fashion  —  which 
had  arrived  within  the  last  month  at  various 
country  houses.  She  felt  indignant  at  her 
self,  and  miserable.  Her  indignation  was 
largely  due  to  the  recollection  that  she  had 
given  these  flowers  to  her  hostess  to  decorate 
the  dinner-table. 

She  hated  to  ask  this  girl  of  things  which 
she  should  have  known  better  than  any  one 
else.  But  she  forced  herself  to  do  it. 
She  felt  she  must  know  certainly  and  at 
once. 

"How  do  you  know  this?"  she  asked. 
"  Are  you  sure  there  is  no  mistake?" 

"  He  told  me  himself,"  said  Marion,  "  when 
he  talked  of  letting  the  plays  go  and  return- 
34 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

ing  to  America.  He  said  he  must  go  back; 
that  his  money  was  gone." 

"  He  is  gone  to  America !  "  Helen  said, 
blankly. 

"  No,  he  wanted  to  go,  but  I  would  n't  let 
him,"  Marion  went  on.  "  I  told  him  that 
some  one  might  take  his  play  any  day.  And 
this  third  one  he  has  written,  the  one  he 
finished  this  summer  in  town,  is  the  best  of 
all,  I  think.  It's  a  love-story.  It's  quite 
beautiful."  She  turned  and  arranged  her 
veil  at  the  glass,  and  as  she  did  so,  her  eyes 
fell  on  the  photographs  of  herself  scattered 
over  the  mantelpiece,  and  she  smiled  slightly. 
But  Helen  did  not  see  her  —  she  was  sitting 
down  now,  pulling  at  the  books  on  the  table. 
She  was  confused  and  disturbed  by  emotions 
which  were  quite  strange  to  her,  and  when 
Marion  bade  her  good-by  she  hardly  noticed 
her  departure.  What  impressed  her  most  of 
all  in  what  Marion  had  told  her,  was,  she  was 
surprised  to  find,  that  Philip  was  going  away. 
That  she  herself  had  frequently  urged  him 
to  do  so,  for  his  own  peace  of  mind,  seemed 
now  of  no  consequence.  Now  that  he  seri 
ously  contemplated  it,  she  recognized  that 
35 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

his  absence  meant  to  her  a  change  In  every 
thing.  She  felt  for  the  first  time  the  peculiar 
place  he  held  in  her  life.  Even  if  she  had 
seen  him  but  seldom,  the  fact  that  he  was 
within  call  had  been  more  of  a  comfort  and  a 
necessity  to  her  than  she  understood. 

That  he  was  poor,  concerned  her  chiefly 
because  she  knew  that,  although  this  con 
dition  could  only  be  but  temporary,  it  would 
distress  him  not  to  have  his  friends  around 
him,  and  to  entertain  them  as  he  had  been 
used  to  do.  She  wondered  eagerly  if  she 
might  offer  to  help  him,  but  a  second  thought 
assured  her  that,  for  a  man,  that  sort  of  help 
from  a  woman  was  impossible. 

She  resented  the  fact  that  Marion  was  deep 
in  his  confidence ;  that  it  was  Marion  who 
had  told  her  of  his  changed  condition  and  of 
his  plans.  It  annoyed  her  so  acutely  that 
she  could  not  remain  in  the  room  where  she 
had  seen  her  so  complacently  in  possession. 
And  after  leaving  a  brief  note  for  Philip,  she 
went  away.  She  stopped  a  hansom  at  the 
door,  and  told  the  man  to  drive  along  the 
Embankment  —  she  wanted  to  be  quite  alone, 
and  she  felt  she  could  see  no  one  until  she 
36 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

had  thought  it  all  out,  and  had  analyzed  the 
new  feelings. 

So  for  several  hours  she  drove  slowly  up 
and  down,  sunk  far  back  in  the  cushions  of 
the  cab,  and  staring  with  unseeing  eyes  at 
the  white  enamelled  tariff  and  the  black 
dash-board. 

She  assured  herself  that  she  was  not  jeal 
ous  of  Marion,  because,  in  order  to  be 
jealous,  she  first  would  have  to  care  for 
Philip  in  the  very  way  she  could  not  bring 
herself  to  do. 

She  decided  that  his  interest  in  Marion 
hurt  her,  because  it  showed  that  Philip  was 
not  capable  of  remaining  true  to  the  one 
ideal  of  his  life.  She  was  sure  that  this  ex 
plained  her  feelings — she  was  disappointed 
that  he  had  not  kept  up  to  his  own  standard ; 
that  he  was  weak  enough  to  turn  aside  from 
it  for  the  first  pretty  pair  of  eyes.  But  she 
was  too  honest  and  too  just  to  accept  that 
diagnosis  of  her  feelings  as  final  —  she  knew 
there  had  been  many  pairs  of  eyes  in  Amer 
ica  and  in  London,  and  that  though  Philip 
had  seen  them,  he  had  not  answered  them 
when  they  spoke.  No,  she  confessed  frankly, 
37 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

she  was  hurt  with  herself  for  neglecting  her 
old  friend  so  selfishly  and  for  so  long  a  time ; 
his  love  gave  him  claims  on  her  considera 
tion,  at  least,  and  she  had  forgotten  that  and 
him,  and  had  run  after  strange  gods  and 
allowed  others  to  come  in  and  take  her 
place,  and  to  give  him  the  sympathy  and 
help  which  she  should  have  been  the  first 
to  offer,  and  which  would  have  counted  more 
when  coming  from  her  than  from  any  one 
else.  She  determined  to  make  amends  at 
once  for  her  thoughtlessness  and  selfishness, 
and  her  brain  was  pleasantly  occupied  with 
plans  and  acts  of  kindness.  It  was  a  new 
entertainment,  and  she  found  she  delighted 
in  it.  She  directed  the  cabman  to  go  to 
Solomons's,  and  from  there  sent  Philip  a 
bunch  of  flowers  and  a  line  saying  that  on 
the  following  day  she  was  coming  to  take 
tea  with  him.  She  had  a  guilty  feeling  that 
he  might  consider  her  friendly  advances  more 
seriously  than  she  meant  them,  but  it  was  her 
pleasure  to  be  reckless:  her  feelings  were 
running  riotously,  and  the  sensation  was  so 
new  that  she  refused  to  be  circumspect  or  to 
consider  consequences.  Who  could  tell,  she 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

asked  herself  with  a  quick,  frightened  gasp, 
but  that,  after  all,  it  might  be  that  she  was 
learning  to  care?  From  Solomons's  she 
bade  the  man  drive  to  the  shop  in  Cran- 
bourne  Street  where  she  was  accustomed  to 
purchase  the  materials  she  used  in  painting, 
and  Fate,  which  uses  strange  agents  to  work 
out  its  ends,  so  directed  it  that  the  cabman 
stopped  a  few  doors  below  this  shop,  and 
opposite  one  where  jewelry  and  other  per 
sonal  effects  were  bought  and  sold.  At  any 
other  time,  or  had  she  been  in  any  other 
mood,  what  followed  might  not  have  occurred, 
but  Fate,  in  the  person  of  the  cabman,  ar 
ranged  it  so  that  the  hour  and  the  oppor 
tunity  came  together. 

There  were  some  old  mezzotints  in  the  win 
dow  of  the  loan  shop,  a  string  of  coins  and 
medals,  a  row  of  new  French  posters;  and 
far  down  to  the  front  a  tray  filled  with  gold 
and  silver  cigarette-cases  and  watches  and 
rings.  It  occurred  to  Helen,  who  was  still 
bent  on  making  restitution  for  her  neglect, 
that  a  cigarette-case  would  be  more  appro 
priate  for  a  man  than  flowers,  and  more  last 
ing.  And  she  scanned  the  contents  of  the 
39 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

window  with  the  eye  of  one  who  now  saw  in 
everything  only  something  which  might  give 
Philip  pleasure.  The  two  objects  of  value  in 
the  tray  upon  which  her  eyes  first  fell  were 
the  gold  seal-ring  with  which  Philip  had 
sealed  his  letters  to  her,  and,  lying  next  to  it, 
his  gold  watch !  There  was  something  al 
most  human  in  the  way  the  ring  and  watch 
spoke  to  her  from  the  past —  in  the  way  they 
appealed  to  her  to  rescue  them  from  the  sur 
roundings  to  which  they  had  been  abandoned. 
She  did  not  know  what  she  meant  to  do  with 
them  nor  how  she  could  return  them  to  Philip  ; 
but  there  was  no  question  of  doubt  in  her 
manner  as  she  swept  with  a  rush  into  the 
shop.  There  was  no  attempt,  either,  at  bar 
gaining  in  the  way  in  which  she  pointed  out 
to  the  young  woman  behind  the  counter 
the  particular  ring  and  watch  she  wanted. 
They  had  not  been  left  as  collateral,  the 
young  woman  said ;  they  had  been  sold  out 
right. 

"Then  any  one  can  buy  them?"  Helen 
asked  eagerly.  "  They  are  for  sale  to  the 
public  —  to  any  one?" 

The  young  woman  made  note  of  the  cus- 
40 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

tomer's  eagerness,  but  with  an  unmoved  coun 
tenance. 

"  Yes,  miss,  they  are  for  sale.  The  ring  is 
four  pounds  and  the  watch  twenty-five/' 

"  Twenty-nine  pounds  !  "  Helen  gasped. 

That  was  more  money  than  she  had  in  the 
world,  but  the  fact  did  not  distress  her,  for 
she  had  a  true  artistic  disregard  for  ready 
money,  and  the  absence  of  it  had  never  dis 
turbed  her.  But  now  it  assumed  a  sudden 
and  alarming  value.  She  had  ten  pounds  in 
her  purse  and  ten  pounds  at  her  studio  — 
these  were  just  enough  to  pay  for  a  quarter's 
rent  and  the  rates,  and  there  was  a  hat  and 
cloak  in  Bond  Street  which  she  certainly  must 
have.  Her  only  assets  consisted  of  the  pos 
sibility  that  some  one  might  soon  order  a 
miniature,  and  to  her  mind  that  was  sufficient. 
Some  one  always  had  ordered  a  miniature, 
and  there  was  no  reasonable  doubt  but  that 
some  one  would  do  it  again.  For  a  moment 
she  questioned  if  it  would  not  be  sufficient  if 
she  bought  the  ring  and  allowed  the  watch  to 
remain.  But  she  recognized  that  the  ring 
meant  more  to  her  than  the  watch,  while  the 
latter,  as  an  old  heirloom  which  had  been 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

passed  down  to  him  from  a  great-grandfather, 
meant  more  to  Philip.  It  was  for  Philip  she 
was  doing  this,  she  reminded  herself.  She 
stood  holding  his  possessions,  one  in  each 
hand,  and  looking  at  the  young  woman 
blankly.  She  had  no  doubt  in  her  mind  that 
at  least  part  of  the  money  he  had  received 
for  them  had  paid  for  the  flowers  he  had  sent 
to  her  in  Scotland.  The  certainty  of  this  left 
her  no  choice.  She  laid  the  ring  and  watch 
down  and  pulled  the  only  ring  she  possessed 
from  her  own  finger.  It  was  a  gift  from  Lady 
Gower.  She  had  no  doubt  that  it  was  of 
great  value. 

"  Can  you  lend  me  some  money  on  that?  " 
she  asked.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had 
conducted  a  business  transaction  of  this  na 
ture,  and  she  felt  as  though  she  were  engag 
ing  in  a  burglary. 

"  We  don't  lend  money,  miss,"  the 
girl  said,  "  we  buy  outright.  I  can  give 
you  twenty-eight  shillings  for  this,"  she 
added. 

"  Twenty-eight  shillings,"  Helen  gasped ; 
"  why,  it  is  worth  —  oh,  ever  so  much  more 
than  that !  " 

42 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"That  is  all  it  is  worth  to  us,"  the  girl 
answered.  She  regarded  the  ring  indiffer 
ently  and  laid  it  away  from  her  on  the 
counter.  The  action  was  final. 

Helen's  hands  rose  slowly  to  her  breast, 
where  a  pretty  watch  dangled  from  a  bowknot 
of  crushed  diamonds.  It  was  her  only  pos 
session,  and  she  was  very  fond  of  it.  It  also 
was  the  gift  of  one  of  the  several  great  ladies 
who  had  adopted  her  since  her  residence  in 
London.  Helen  had  painted  a  miniature  of 
this  particular  great  lady  which  had  looked 
so  beautiful  that  the  pleasure  which  the  orig 
inal  of  the  portrait  derived  from  the  thought 
that  she  still  really  looked  as  she  did  in  the 
miniature  was  worth  more  to  her  than  many 
diamonds. 

But  it  was  different  with  Helen,  and  no  one 
could  count  what  it  cost  her  to  tear  away  her 
one  proud  possession. 

"What  will  you  give  me  for  this?"  she 
asked  defiantly. 

The  girl's  eyes  showed  greater  interest. 
"  I  can  give  you  twenty  pounds  for  that,"  she 
said. 

"  Take  it,  please,"  Helen  begged,  as  though 
43 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

she  feared  if  she  kept  it  a  moment  longer  she 
might  not  be  able  to  make  the  sacrifice. 

"  That  will  be  enough  now,"  she  went  on, 
taking  out  her  ten-pound  note.  She  put 
Lady  Gower's  ring  back  upon  her  finger 
and  picked  up  Philip's  ring  and  watch  with 
the  pleasure  of  one  who  has  come  into  a 
great  fortune.  She  turned  back  at  the 
door. 

"  Oh,"  she^  stammered,  "  in  case  any  one 
should  inquire,  you  are  not  to  say  who 
bought  these." 

"  No,  miss,  certainly  not,"  said  the  woman. 
Helen  gave  the  direction  to  the  cabman  and, 
closing  the  doors  of  the  hansom,  sat  looking 
down  at  the  watch  and  the  ring,  as  they  lay 
in  her  lap.  The  thought  that  they  had  been 
his  most  valued  possessions,  which  he  had 
abandoned  forever,  and  that  they  were  now 
entirely  hers,  to  do  with  as  she  liked,  filled 
her  with  most  intense  delight  and  pleasure. 
She  took  up  the  heavy  gold  ring  and  placed 
it  on  the  little  finger  of  her  left  hand  ;  it  was 
much  too  large,  and  she  removed  it  and 
balanced  it  for  a  moment  doubtfully  in  the 
palm  of  her  right  hand.  She  was  smiling, 
44 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

and  her  face  was  lit  with  shy  and  tender 
thoughts.  She  cast  a  quick  glance  to  the 
left  and  right  as  though  fearful  that  people 
passing  in  the  street  would  observe  her,  and 
then  slipped  the  ring  over  the  fourth  finger 
of  her  left  hand.  She  gazed  at  it  with  a 
guilty  smile  and  then,  covering  it  hastily 
with  her  other  hand,  leaned  back,  clasping 
it  closely,  and  sat  frowning  far  out  before 
her  with  puzzled  eyes. 

To  Carroll  all  roads  led  past  Helen's  studio, 
and  during  the  summer,  while  she  had  been 
absent  in  Scotland  it  was  one  of  his  sad 
pleasures  to  make  a  pilgrimage  to  her  street 
and  to  pause  opposite  the  house  and  look 
up  at  the  empty  windows  of  her  rooms. 
It  was  during  this  daily  exercise  that  he 
learned,  through  the  arrival  of  her  luggage, 
of  her  return  to  London,  and  when  day 
followed  day  without  her  having  shown  any 
desire  to  see  him  or  to  tell  him  of  her  return 
he  denounced  himself  most  bitterly  as  a 
fatuous  fool. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  he  sat  down  and 
considered  his  case  quite  calmly.  For  three 
years  he  had  loved  this  girl,  deeply  and 
45 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

tenderly.  He  had  been  lover,  brother, 
friend,  and  guardian.  During  that  time, 
even  though  she  had  accepted  him  in  every 
capacity  except  as  that  of  the  prospective 
husband,  she  had  never  given  him  any  real 
affection,  nor  sympathy,  nor  help ;  all  she 
had  done  for  him  had  been  done  without 
her  knowledge  or  intent.  To  know  her,  to 
love  her,  and  to  scheme  to  give  her  pleasure 
had  been  its  own  reward,  and  the  only  one. 
For  the  last  few  months  he  had  been  living 
like  a  crossing-sweeper  in  order  to  be  able 
to  stay  in  London  until  she  came  back  to  it, 
and  that  he  might  still  send  her  the  gifts  he 
had  always  laid  on  her  altar.  He  had  not 
seen  her  in  three  months.  Three  months 
that  had  been  to  him  a  blank,  except  for  his 
work — which  like  all  else  that  he  did,  was 
inspired  and  carried  on  for  her.  Now  at  last 
she  had  returned  and  had  shown  that,  even 
as  a  friend,  he  was  of  so  little  account  in  her 
thoughts,  of  so  little  consequence  in  her  life, 
that  after  this  long  absence  she  had  no  desire 
to  learn  of  his  welfare  or  to  see  him  —  she 
did  not  even  give  him  the  chance  to  see  her. 
And  so,  placing  these  facts  before  him  for 
46 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

the  first  time  since  he  had  loved  her,  he  con 
sidered  what  was  due  to  himself.  "  Was  it 
good  enough?"  he  asked.  ''Was  it  just 
that  he  should  continue  to  wear  out  his  soul 
and  body  for  this  girl  who  did  not  want 
what  he  had  to  give,  who  treated  him  less 
considerately  than  a  man  whom  she  met  for 
the  first  time  at  dinner?  He  felt  he  had 
reached  the  breaking-point;  that  the  time 
had  come  when  he  must  consider  what  he 
owed  to  himself.  There  could  never  be  any 
other  woman  save  Helen,  but  as  it  was  not 
to  be  Helen,  he  could  no  longer,  with  self- 
respect,  continue  to  proffer  his  love  only  to 
see  it  slighted  and  neglected.  He  was 
humble  enough  concerning  himself,  but  of 
his  love  he  was  very  proud.  Other  men 
could  give  her  more  in  wealth  or  position, 
but  no  one  could  ever  love  her  as  he  did. 
"  He  that  hath  more  let  him  give,"  he  had 
often  quoted  to  her  defiantly,  as  though  he 
were  challenging  the  world,  and  now  he  felt 
he  must  evolve  a  make-shift  world  of  his  own 
—  a  world  in  which  she  was  not  his  only 
spring  of  acts ;  he  must  begin  all  over  again 
and  keep  his  love  secret  and  sacred  until  she 
47 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

understood  it  and  wanted  it.  And  if  she 
should  never  want  it  he  would  at  least  have 
saved  it  from  many  rebuffs  and  insults. 

With  this  determination  strong  in  him,  the 
note  Helen  had  left  for  him  after  her  talk 
with  Marion,  and  the  flowers,  and  the  note 
with  them,  saying  she  was  coming  to  take 
tea  on  the  morrow,  failed  to  move  him  ex 
cept  to  make  him  more  bitter.  He  saw  in 
them  only  a  tardy  recognition  of  her  neglect 
—  an  effort  to  make  up  to  him  for  thought 
lessness  which,  from  her,  hurt  him  worse 
than  studied  slight. 

A  new  regime  had  begun,  and  he  was 
determined  to  establish  it  firmly  and  to 
make  it  impossible  for  himself  to  retreat  from 
it ;  and  in  the  note  in  which  he  thanked 
Helen  for  the  flowers  and  welcomed  her  to 
tea,  he  declared  his  ultimatum. 

"  You  know  how  terribly  I  feel,"  he  wrote ; 
"  I  don't  have  to  tell  you  that,  but  I  cannot 
always  go  on  dragging  out  my  love  and 
holding  it  up  to  excite  your  pity  as  beggars 
show  their  sores.  I  cannot  always  go  on  pray 
ing  before  your  altar,  cutting  myself  with 
knives  and  calling  upon  you  to  listen  to  me. 
48 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

You  know  that  there  is  no  one  else  but  you, 
and  that  there  never  can  be  any  one  but 
you,  and  that  nothing  is  changed  except  that 
after  this  I  am  not  going  to  urge  and  torment 
you.  I  shall  wait  as  I  have  always  waited  — 
only  now  I  shall  wait  in  silence.  You  know 
just  how  little,  in  one  way,  I  have  to  offer 
you,  and  you  know  just  how  much  I  have 
in  love  to  offer  you.  It  is  now  for  you  to 
speak — some  day,  or  never.  But  you  will 
have  to  speak  first.  You  will  never  hear  a 
word  of  love  from  me  again.  Why  should 
you?  You  know  it  is  always  waiting  for  you. 
But  if  you  should  ever  want  it,  you  must 
come  to  me,  and  take  off  your  hat  and  put 
it  on  my  table  and  say,  '  Philip,  I  have  come 
to  stay.'  Whether  you  can  ever  do  that  or 
not  can  make  no  difference  in  my  love  for 
you.  I  shall  love  you  always,  as  no  man  has 
ever  loved  a  woman  in  this  world,  but  it  is 
you  who  must  speak  first;  for  me,  the  rest 
is  silence." 

The  following  morning  as  Helen  was  leav 
ing  the  house  she  found  this  letter  lying  on 
the  hall-table,  and   ran  back  with  it  to  her 
rooms.     A  week  before  she  would  have  let 
4  49 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

it  lie  on  the  table  and  read  it  on  her  return. 
She  was  conscious  that  this  was  what  she 
would  have  done,  and  it  pleased  her  to  find 
that  what  concerned  Philip  was  now  to  her 
the  thing  of  greatest  interest.  She  was 
pleased  with  her  own  eagerness  • —  her  own 
happiness  was  a  welcome  sign,  and  she  was 
proud  and  glad  that  she  was  learning  to  care. 

She  read  the  letter  with  an  anxious  pride 
and  pleasure  in  each  word  that  was  entirely 
new.  Philip's  recriminations  did  not  hurt 
her,  they  were  the  sign  that  he  cared ;  nor 
did  his  determination  not  to  speak  of  his 
love  to  her  hurt  her,  for  she  believed  him 
when  he  said  that  he  would  always  care. 
She  read  the  letter  twice,  and  then  sat  for 
some  time  considering  the  kind  of  letter 
Philip  would  have  written  had  he  known 
her  secret  —  had  he  known  that  the  ring  he 
had  abandoned  was  now  upon  her  finger. 

She  rose  and,  crossing  to  a  desk,  placed 
the  letter  in  a  drawer,  and  then  took  it  out 
again  and  re-read  the  last  page.  When  she 
had  finished  it  she  was  smiling.  For  a  mo 
ment  she  stood  irresolute,  and  then,  moving 
slowly  toward  the  centre-table,  cast  a  guilty 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

look  about  her  and,  raising  her  hands,  lifted 
her  veil  and  half  withdrew  the  pins  that  fas 
tened  her  hat. 

"  Philip,"  she  began  in  a  frightened  whisper, 
"  I  have  —  I  have  come  to  —  " 

The  sentence  ended  in  a  cry  of  protest, 
and  she  rushed  across  the  room  as  though 
she  were  running  from  herself.  She  was 
blushing  violently. 

"  Never !  "  she  cried,  as  she  pulled  open 
the  door ;  "  I  could  never  do  it  —  never  !  " 

The  following  afternoon,  when  Helen  was  to 
come  to  tea,  Carroll  decided  that  he  would  re 
ceive  her  with  all  the  old  friendliness,  but  that 
he  must  be  careful  to  subdue  all  emotion. 

He  was  really  deeply  hurt  at  her  treat 
ment,  and  had  it  not  been  that  she  came  on 
her  own  invitation  he  would  not  of  his  own 
accord  have  sought  to  see  her.  In  conse 
quence,  he  rather  welcomed  than  otherwise 
the  arrival  of  Marion  Cavendish,  who  came 
a  half-hour  before  Helen  was  expected,  and 
who  followed  a  hasty  knock  with  a  precipi 
tate  entrance. 

"Sit  down,"  she  commanded  breathlessly; 
"  and  listen.  I  Ve  been  at  rehearsal  all 
S1 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

day,  or  I  'd  have  been  here  before  you  were 
awake."  She  seated  herself  nervously  and 
nodded  her  head  at  Carroll  in  an  excited 
and  mysterious  manner. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "  Have  you 
and  Reggie  — ' 

"  Listen,"  Marion  repeated,  "  our  fortunes 
are  made;  that  is  what's  the  matter — and 
I  Ve  made  them.  If  you  took  half  the  in 
terest  in  your  work  I  do,  you  'd  have  made 
yours  long  ago.  Last  night,"  she  began  im 
pressively,  "  I  went  to  a  large  supper  at  the 
Savoy,  and  I  sat  next  to  Charley  Wimpole. 
He  came  in  late,  after  everybody  had  finished, 
and  I  attacked  him  while  he  was  eating  his 
supper.  He  said  he  had  been  rehearsing 
'Caste'  after  the  performance;  that  they've 
put  it  on  as  a  stop-gap  on  account  of  the  failure 
of  the  'Triflers,'  and  that  he  knew  revivals 
were  of  no  use  ;  that  he  would  give  any  sum 
for  a  good  modern  comedy.  That  was  my 
cue,  and  I  told  him  I  knew  of  a  better 
comedy  than  any  he  had  produced  at  his 
theatre  in  five  years,  and  that  it  was  going 
begging.  He  laughed,  and  asked  where  was 
he  to  find  this  wonderful  comedy,  and  I  said, 
52 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

*  It 's  been  in  your  safe  for  the  last  two  months 
and  you  have  n't  read  it.'  He  said,  '  Indeed, 
how  do  you  know  that?'  and  I  said,  'Be 
cause  if  you  'd  read  it,  it  would  n't  be  in 
your  safe,  but  on  your  stage.'  So  he  asked 
me  what  the  play  was  about,  and  I  told  him 
the  plot  and  what  sort  of  a  part  his  was,  and 
some  of  his  scenes,  and  he  began  to  take 
notice.  He  forgot  his  supper,  and  very  soon 
he  grew  so  interested  that  he  turned  his 
chair  round  and  kept  eying  my  supper-card 
to  find  out  who  I  was,  and  at  last  remem 
bered  seeing  me  in  '  The  New  Boy '  —  and 
a  rotten  part  it  was,  too — but  he  remem 
bered  it,  and  he  told  me  to  go  on  and  tell 
him  more  about  your  play.  So  I  recited  it, 
bit  by  bit,  and  he  laughed  in  all  the  right 
places  and  got  very  much  excited,  and  said 
finally  that  he  would  read  it  the  first  thing 
this  morning."  Marion  paused,  breathlessly. 
"  Oh,  yes,  and  he  wrote  your  address  on  his 
cuff,"  she  added,  with  the  air  of  delivering  a 
complete  and  convincing  climax. 

Carroll  stared  at  her  and  pulled  excitedly 
on  his  pipe. 

"  Oh,  Marion !  "  he  gasped,  "  suppose  he 
53 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

should?     He  won't  though,"  he  added,  but 
eying  her  eagerly  and  inviting  contradiction. 

"  He  will,"  she  answered,  stoutly,  "  if  he 
reads  it." 

"The  other  managers  read  it,"  Carroll 
suggested,  doubtfully. 

"  Yes,  but  what  do  they  know  ?  "  Marion 
returned,  loftily.  "  He  knows.  Charles 
Wimpole  is  the  only  intelligent  actor-man 
ager  in  London." 

There  was  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door, 
which  Marion  in  her  excitement  had  left  ajar, 
and  Prentiss  threw  it  wide  open  with  an  im 
pressive  sweep,  as  though  he  were  announc 
ing  royalty :  "  Mr.  Charles  Wimpole,"  he 
said. 

The  actor-manager  stopped  in  the  door 
way  bowing  gracefully,  his  hat  held  before 
him  and  his  hand  on  his  stick  as  though  it 
were  resting  on  a  foil.  He  had  the  face  and 
carriage  of  a  gallant  of  the  days  of  Congreve, 
and  he  wore  his  modern  frock-coat  with  as 
much  distinction  as  if  it  were  of  silk  and  lace. 
He  was  evidently  amused.  "  I  could  n't  help 
overhearing  the  last  line,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  It  gives  me  a  good  entrance." 
54 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Marion  gazed  at  him  blankly:  "Oh,"  she 
gasped,  "  we  —  we  —  were  just  talking  about 
you." 

"  If  you  had  n't  mentioned  my  name,"  the 
actor  said,  "  I  should  never  have  guessed 
it.  And  this  is  Mr.  Carroll,  I  hope." 

The  great  man  was  rather  pleased  with  the 
situation.  As  he  read  it,  it  struck  him  as 
possessing  strong  dramatic  possibilities : 
Carroll  was  the  struggling  author  on  the 
verge  of  starvation :  Marion,  his  sweetheart, 
flying  to  him  gave  him  hope ;  and  he  was 
the  good  fairy  arriving  in  the  nick  of  time  to 
set  everything  right  and  to  make  the  young 
people  happy  and  prosperous.  He  rather 
fancied  himself  in  the  part  of  the  good  fairy, 
and  as  he  seated  himself  he  bowed  to  them 
both  in  a  manner  which  was  charmingly  in 
clusive  and  confidential. 

"  Miss  Cavendish,  I  imagine,  has  already 
warned  you  that  you  might  expect  a  visit 
from  me,"  he  said  tentatively.  Carroll  nod 
ded.  He  was  too  much  concerned  to  in 
terrupt. 

"  Then    I    need  only  tell  you,"    Wimpole 
continued,  "  that  I  got  up  at  an  absurd  hour 
55 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

this  morning  to  read  your  play  ;  that  I  did 
read  it;  that  I  like  it  immensely — and  that 
if  we  can  come  to  terms  I  shall  produce  it. 
I  shall  produce  it  at  once,  within  a  fortnight 
or  three  weeks." 

Carroll  was  staring  at  him  intently  and 
continued  doing  so  after  Wimpole  had  finished 
speaking.  The  actor  felt  he  had  somehow 
missed  his  point,  or  that  Carroll  could  not 
have  understood  him,  and  repeated,  "  I  say  I 
shall  put  it  in  rehearsal  at  once." 

Carroll  rose  abruptly,  and  pushed  back  his 
chair.  "  I  should  be  very  glad,"  he  mur 
mured,  and  strode  over  to  the  window,  where 
he  stood  with  his  back  turned  to  his  guests. 
Wimpole  looked  after  him  with  a  kindly 
smile  and  nodded  his  head  appreciatively. 
He  had  produced  even  a  greater  effect  than 
his  lines  seemed  to  warrant.  When  he  spoke 
again,  it  was  quite  simply,  and  sincerely,  and 
though  he  spoke  for  Carroll's  benefit,  he  ad 
dressed  himself  to  Marion. 

"  You  were  quite  right  last  night,"  he  said, 
"  it  is  a  most  charming  piece  of  work.  I  am 
really  extremely  grateful  to  you  for  bringing 
it  to  my  notice."  He  rose,  and  going  to 

56 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Carroll,  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  My 
boy,"  he  said,  "  I  congratulate  you.  I  should 
like  to  be  your  age,  and  to  have  written  that 
play.  Come  to  my  theatre  to-morrow  and 
we  will  talk  terms.  Talk  it  over  first  with 
your  friends,  so  that  I  sha'n't  rob  you.  Do 
you  think  you  would  prefer  a  lump  sum  now, 
and  so  be  done  with  it  altogether,  or  trust 
that  the  royalties  may — " 

"  Royalties,"  prompted  Marion,  in  an  eager 
aside. 

The  men  laughed.  "  Quite  right,"  Wim- 
pole  assented,  good-humoredly;  "  it's  a  poor 
sportsman  who  does  n't  back  his  own  horse. 
Well,  then,  until  to-morrow." 

"But,"  Carroll  began,  "one  moment  please. 
I  have  n't  thanked  you." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  cried  Wimpole,  waving 
him  away  with  his  stick,  "  it  is  I  who  have  to 
thank  you." 

"And — and  there  is  a  condition,"  Carroll 
said,  "  which  goes  with  the  play.  It  is 
that  Miss  Cavendish  is  to  have  the  part  of 
Nancy." 

Wimpole  looked  serious  and  considered  for 
a  moment, 

57 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"Nancy"  he  said,  "  the  girl  who  interferes — * 
a  very  good  part  I  have  cast  Miss  Maddox 
for  it  in  my  mind,  but,  of  course,  if  the  author 
insists  —  " 

Marion,  with  her  elbows  on  the  table, 
clasped  her  hands  appealingly  before  her. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Wimpole  !  "  she  cried,  "  you  owe 
me  that,  at  least." 

Carroll  leaned  over  and  took  both  of 
Marion's  hands  in  one  of  his. 

"  It 's  all  right,"  he  said ;  "  the  author 
insists." 

Wimpole  waved  his  stick  again  as  though 
it  were  the  magic  wand  of  the  good  fairy. 

"  You  shall  have  it,"  he  said.  "  I  recall 
your  performance  in  'The  New  Boy'  with 
pleasure.  I  take  the  play,  and  Miss  Caven 
dish  shall  be  cast  for  Nancy.  We  shall  begin 
rehearsals  at  once.  I  hope  you  are  a  quick 
study." 

"  I  'm  letter-perfect  now  "  laughed  Marion. 

Wimpole  turned  at  the  door  and  nodded  to 
them.  They  were  both  so  young,  so  eager, 
and  so  jubilant  that  he  felt  strangely  old  and 
out  of  it.  "  Good-by,  then,"  he  said. 

"  Good-by,    sir,"    they    both     chorussed. 

58 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

And    Marion   cried  after   him,   "  And  thank 
you  a  thousand  times." 

He  turned  again  and  looked  back  at  them, 
but  in  their  rejoicing  they  had  already  for 
gotten  him.  "  Bless  you,  my  children,"  he 
said,  smiling.  As  he  was  about  to  close  the 
door  a  young  girl  came  down  the  passage 
toward  it,  and  as  she  was  apparently  going 
to  Carroll's  rooms,  the  actor  left  the  door 
open  behind  him. 

Neither  Marion  nor  Carroll  had  noticed 
his  final  exit.  They  were  both  gazing  at 
each  other  as  though,  could  they  find  speech, 
they  would  ask  if  it  were  true. 

"  It  's  come  at  last,  Marion,"  Philip  said, 
with  an  uncertain  voice. 

"  I  could  weep,"  cried  Marion.  "  Philip," 
she  exclaimed,  "  I  would  rather  see  that  play 
succeed  than  any  play  ever  written,  and  I 
would  rather  play  that  part  in  it  than  —  Oh, 
Philip,"  she  ended.  "  I  'm  so  proud  of  you  !  " 
and  rising,  she  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck 
and  sobbed  on  his  shoulder. 

Carroll  raised  one  of  her  hands  and  kissed 
the  tips  of  her  fingers  gently.     "  I  owe  it  to 
you,  Marion,"  he  said  —  "all  to  you." 
59 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

This  was  the  tableau  that  was  presented 
through  the  open  door  to  Miss  Helen  Cabot, 
hurrying  on  her  errand  of  restitution  and 
good-will,  and  with  Philip's  ring  and  watch 
clasped  in  her  hand.  They  had  not  heard 
her,  nor  did  they  see  her  at  the  door,  so  she 
drew  back  quickly  and  ran  along  the  passage 
and  down  the  stairs  into  the  street. 

She  did  not  need  now  to  analyze  her  feel 
ings.  They  were  only  too  evident.  For  she 
could  translate  what  she  had  just  seen  as 
meaning  only  one  thing  —  that  she  had  con 
sidered  Philip's  love  so  lightly  that  she  had 
not  felt  it  passing  away  from  her  until  her 
neglect  had  killed  it  —  until  it  was  too  late. 
And  now  that  it  was  too  late  she  felt  that 
without  it  her  life  could  not  go  on.  She  tried 
to  assure  herself  that  only  the  fact  that  she 
had  lost  it  made  it  seem  invaluable,  but  this 
thought  did  not  comfort  her  —  she  was  not 
deceived  by  it,  she  knew  that  at  last  she  cared 
for  him  deeply  and  entirely.  In  her  distress 
she  blamed  herself  bitterly,  but  she  also 
blamed  Philip  no  less  bitterly  for  having 
failed  to  wait  for  her.  "  He  might  have 
known  that  I  must  love  him  in  time,"  she  re- 
60 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

peated  to  herself  again  and  again.  She  was 
so  unhappy  that  her  letter  congratulating 
Philip  on  his  good  fortune  in  having  his 
comedy  accepted  seemed  to  him  cold  and 
unfeeling,  and  as  his  success  meant  for  him 
only  what  it  meant  to  her,  he  was  hurt  and 
grievously  disappointed. 

He  accordingly  turned  the  more  readily  to 
Marion,  whose  interests  and  enthusiasm  at 
the  rehearsals  of  the  piece  seemed  in  contrast 
most  friendly  and  unselfish.  He  could  not 
help  but  compare  the  attitude  of  the  two  girls 
at  this  time,  when  the  failure  or  success  of 
his  best  work  was  still  undecided.  He  felt 
that  as  Helen  took  so  little  interest  in  his 
success  he  could  not  dare  to  trouble  her 
with  his  anxieties  concerning  it,  and  she 
attributed  his  silence  to  his  preoccupation 
and  interest  in  Marion.  So  the  two  grew 
apart,  each  misunderstanding  the  other 
and  each  troubled  in  spirit  at  the  other's 
indifference. 

The  first  night  of  the  play  justified  all  that 

Marion  and  Wimpole  had  claimed  for  it,  and 

was    a  great  personal  triumph    for  the   new 

playwright.     The   audience  was   the  typical 

61 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

first-night  audience  of  the  class  which  Charles 
Wimpole  always  commanded.  It  was  bril 
liant,  intelligent,  and  smart,  and  it  came  pre 
pared  to  be  pleased. 

From  one  of  the  upper  stage-boxes  Helen 
and  Lady  Gower  watched  the  successful 
progress  of  the  play  with  an  anxiety  almost 
as  keen  as  that  of  the  author.  To  Helen  it 
seemed  as  though  the  giving  of  these  lines  to 
the  public  —  these  lines  which  he  had  so 
often  read  to  her,  and  altered  to  her  liking  — 
was  a  desecration.  It  seemed  as  though  she 
were  losing  him  indeed  —  as  though  he  now 
belonged  to  these  strange  people,  all  of  whom 
were  laughing  and  applauding  his  words, 
from  the  German  Princess  in  the  Royal  box 
to  the  straight-backed  Tommy  in  the  pit. 
Instead  of  the  painted  scene  before  her,  she 
saw  the  birch-trees  by  the  river  at  home, 
where  he  had  first  read  her  the  speech  to 
which  they  were  now  listening  so  intensely  — 
the  speech  in  which  the  hero  tells  the  girl  he 
loves  her.  She  remembered  that  at  the  time 
she  had  thought  how  wonderful  it  would  be 
if  some  day  some  one  made  such  a  speech  to 
her  —  not  Philip — but  a  man  she  loved. 
62 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

And  now?     If  Philip  would   only  make  that 
speech  to  her  now ! 

He  came  out  at  last,  with  Wimpole  leading 
him,  and  bowed  across  a  glaring  barrier  of 
lights  at  a  misty  but  vociferous  audience  that 
was  shouting  the  generous  English  bravo ! 
and  standing  up  to  applaud.  He  raised 
his  eyes  to  the  box  where  Helen  sat,  and 
saw  her  staring  down  at  the  tumult,  with 
her  hands  clasped  under  her  chin.  Her  face 
was  colorless,  but  lit  with  the  excitement 
of  the  moment;  and  he  saw  that  she  was 
crying. 

Lady  Gower,  from  behind  her,  was  clap 
ping  her  hands  delightedly. 

"  But,  my  dear  Helen,"  she  remonstrated 
breathlessly,  "  you  never  told  me  he  was  so 
good-looking." 

"  Yes,"  said  Helen,  rising  abruptly,  "  he  is 
—  very  good-looking." 

She  crossed  the  box  to  where  her  cloak 
was  hanging,  but  instead  of  taking  it  down 
buried  her  face  in  its  folds. 

"  My   dear  child  !  "  cried   Lady  Gower,  in 
dismay.     "What  is  it?     The  excitement  has 
been  too  much  for  you." 
63 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

"  No,  T  am  just  happy,"  sobbed  Helen.  "  I 
am  just  happy  for  him." 

"  We  will  go  and  tell  him  so  then,"  said 
Lady  Gower.  "  I  am  sure  he  would  like  to 
hear  it  from  you  to-night." 

Philip  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
stage,  surrounded  by  many  pretty  ladies  and 
elderly  men.  Wimpole  was  hovering  over 
him  as  though  he  had  claims  upon  him  by 
the  right  of  discovery. 

But  when  Philip  saw  Helen,  he  pushed  his 
way  toward  her  eagerly  and  took  her  hand 
in  both  of  his. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  Phil,"  she  said.  She  felt 
it  all  so  deeply  that  she  was  afraid  to  say 
more,  but  that  meant  so  much  to  her  that 
she  was  sure  he  would  understand. 

He  had  planned  it  very  differently.  For  a 
year  he  had  dreamed  that,  on  the  first  night 
of  his  play,  there  would  be  a  supper,  and 
that  he  would  rise  and  drink  her  health,  and 
tell  his  friends  and  the  world  that  she  was  the 
woman  he  loved,  and  that  she  had  agreed  to 
marry  him,  and  that  at  last  he  was  able, 
through  the  success  of  his  play,  to  make  her 
his  wife. 

64 


Saw  her  staring  down  at  the  tumult. 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

And  now  they  met  in  a  crowd  to  shake 
hands,  and  she  went  her  way  with  one  of  her 
grand  ladies,  and  he  was  left  among  a  group 
of  chattering  strangers.  The  great  English 
playwright  took  him  by  the  hand  and  in  the 
hearing  of  all,  praised  him  gracefully  and 
kindly.  It  did  not  matter  to  Philip  whether 
the  older  playwright  believed  what  he  said  or 
not ;  he  knew  it  was  generously  meant. 

"  I  envy  you  this,"  the  great  man  was  say 
ing.  "  Don't  lose  any  of  it,  stay  and  listen 
to  all  they  have  to  say.  You  will  never  live 
through  the  first  night  of  your  first  play  but 
once." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  them,"  said  Philip,  nervously ; 
"  they  are  all  too  kind.  But  I  don't  hear  the 
voice  I  have  been  listening  for,"  he  added  in 
a  whisper.  The  older  man  pressed  his  hand 
again  quickly.  "  My  dear  boy,"  he  said,  "  I 
am  sorry." 

"  Thank  you,"  Philip  answered. 

Within  a  week  he  had  forgotten  the  great 
man's  fine  words  of  praise,  but  the  clasp  of 
his  hand  he  cherished  always. 

Helen  met  Marion  as  she  was  leaving  the 
stage  door  and  stopped  to  congratulate  her 
5  65 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

on  her  success  in  the  new  part.  Marion  was 
radiant.  To  Helen  she  seemed  obstreperously 
happy  and  jubilant. 

"And,  Marion,"  Helen  began  bravely,  "I 
also  want  to  congratulate  you  on  something 
else.  You  —  you  —  neither  of  you  have  told 
me  yet,"  she  stammered,  "  but  I  am  such  an 
old  friend  of  both  that  I  will  not  be  kept  out 
of  the  secret."  At  these  words  Marion's  air 
of  triumphant  gayety  vanished ;  she  regarded 
Helen's  troubled  eyes  closely  and  kindly. 

"What  secret,  Helen?"  she  asked. 

"  I  came  to  the  door  of  Philip's  room  the 
other  day  when  you  did  not  know  I  was 
there,"  Helen  answered;  "  and  I  could  not 
help  seeing  how  matters  were.  And  I  do 
congratulate  you  both  —  and  wish  you  —  oh, 
such  happiness !  "  Without  a  word  Marion 
dragged  her  back  down  the  passage  to  her 
dressing-room,  and  closed  the  door. 

"  Now  tell  me  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  discovered  anything  you 
did  n't  want  known  yet,"  said  Helen,  "  but 
the  door  was  open.  Mr.  Wimpole  had  just 
left  you  and  had  not  shut  it,  and  I  could  not 
help  seeing." 

66 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

Marion  interrupted  her  with  an  eager  ex 
clamation  of  enlightenment. 

"  Oh,  you  were  there,  then,"  she  cried. 
"And  you?"  she  asked  eagerly  — "  you 
thought  Phil  cared  for  me  —  that  we  are  en 
gaged,  and  it  hurt  you  ;  you  are  sorry?  Tell 
me,"  she  demanded,  "  are  you  sorry?" 

Helen  drew  back  and  stretched  out  her 
hand  toward  the  door. 

"  How  can  you  !  "  she  exclaimed,  indig 
nantly.  "  You  have  no  right." 

Marion  stood  between  her  and  the  door. 

"I  have  every  right,"  she  said,  "to  help 
my  friends,  and  I  want  to  help  you  and  Philip. 
And  indeed  I  do  hope  you  arc  sorry.  I 
hope  you  are  miserable.  And  I  'm  glad  you 
saw  me  kiss  him.  That  was  the  first  and  the 
last  time,  and  I  did  it  because  I  was  happy 
and  glad  for  him ;  and  because  I  love  him 
too,  but  not  in  the  least  in  the  way  he  loves 
you.  No  one  ever  loved  any  one  as  he  loves 
you.  And  it's  time  you  found  it  out.  And 
if  I  have  helped  to  make  you  find  it  out  I  'm 
glad,  and  I  don't  care  how  much  I  hurt 
you." 

"Marion!"  exclaimed  Helen,  "what  does 
67 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

it  mean  ?  Do  you  mean  that  you  are  not  en 
gaged  ;  that  —  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  Marion  answered.  "  I 
am  going  to  marry  Reggie.  It  is  you  that 
Philip  loves,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for  you  that 
you  don't  love  him." 

Helen  clasped  Marion's  hands  in  both  of 
hers. 

"But,  Marion!"  she  cried,  "  I  do,  oh,  I 
do!" 

There  was  a  thick  yellow  fog  the  next 
morning,  and  with  it  rain  and  a  sticky,  de 
pressing  dampness  which  crept  through  the 
window-panes,  and  which  neither  a  fire  nor 
blazing  gas-jets  could  overcome. 

Philip  stood  in  front  of  the  fireplace  with 
the  morning  papers  piled  high  on  the  centre- 
table  and  scattered  over  the  room  about  him. 

He  had  read  them  all,  and  he  knew  now 
what  it  was  to  wake  up  famous,  but  he  could 
not  taste  it.  Now  that  it  had  come  it  meant 
nothing,  and  that  it  was  so  complete  a  tri 
umph  only  made  it  the  harder.  In  his  most 
optimistic  dreams  he  had  never  imagined 
success  so  satisfying  as  the  reality  had  proved 
68 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

to  be ;  but  in  his  dreams  Helen  had  always 
held  the  chief  part,  and  without  her,  success 
seemed  only  to  mock  him. 

He  wanted  to  lay  it  all  before  her,  to  say, 
"  If  you  are  pleased,  I  am  happy.  If  you 
are  satisfied,  then  I  am  content.  It  was  done 
for  you,  and  I  am  wholly  yours,  and  all  that 
I  do  is  yours."  And,  as  though  in  answer 
to  his  thoughts,  there  was  an  instant  knock 
at  the  door,  and  Helen  entered  the  room 
and  stood  smiling  at  him  across  the  table. 

Her  eyes  were  lit  with  excitement,  and 
spoke  with  many  emotions,  and  her  cheeks 
were  brilliant  with  color.  He  had  never  seen 
her  look  more  beautiful. 

"  Why,  Helen  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  how  good 
of  you  to  come.  Is  there  anything  wrong? 
Is  anything  the  matter?  " 

She  tried  to  speak,  but  faltered,  and  smiled 
at  him  appealingly. 

"  What  is  it?  "  he  asked  in  great  concern. 

Helen  drew  in  her  breath  quickly,  and  at 
the  same  moment  motioned  him  away — and 
he  stepped  back  and  stood  watching  her  in 
much  perplexity. 

With  her  eyes  fixed  on  his  she  raised  her 
69 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

hands  to  her  head,  and  her  fingers  fumbled 
with  the  knot  of  her  veil.  She  pulled  it 
loose,  and  then,  with  a  sudden  courage, 
lifted  her  hat  proudly,  as  though  it  were  a 
coronet,  and  placed  it  between  them  on  his 
table. 

"  Philip,"  she  stammered,  with  the  tears 
in  her  voice  and  eyes,  "  if  you  will  let  me  — 
I  have  come  to  stay." 

The  table  was  no  longer  between  them. 
He  caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her 
face  and  her  uncovered  head  again  and 
again.  From  outside  the  rain  beat  drearily 
and  the  fog  rolled  through  the  street,  but 
inside  before  the  fire  the  two  young  people 
sat  close  together,  asking  eager  questions  or 
sitting  in  silence,  staring  at  the  flames  with 
wondering,  happy  eyes. 

The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn  saw  them  only 
once  again.  It  was  a  month  later  when  they 
stopped  in  front  of  the  shop  in  a  four-wheeler, 
with  their  baggage  mixed  on  top  of  it,  and 
steamer-labels  pasted  over  every  trunk. 

"  And,  oh,  Prentiss  !  "  Carroll  called  from 
the  cab-window.  "  I  came  near  forgetting. 
70 


The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 

I  promised  to  gild  the  Lion  and  the  Unicorn 
if  I  won  out  in  London.  So  have  it  done, 
please,  and  send  the  bill  to  me.  For  I  Ve 
won  out  all  right."  And  then  he  shut  the 
door  of  the  cab,  and  they  drove  away  for 
ever. 

"  Nice  gal,  that,"  growled  the  Lion.  "  I 
always  liked  her.  I  am  glad  they  Ve  settled 
it  at  last." 

The  Unicorn  sighed,  sentimentally.  "  The 
other  one  's  worth  two  of  her,"  he  said. 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

/TTVHERE  were  four  rails  around  the  ship's 
-*-  sides,  the  three  lower  ones  of  iron  and 
the  one  on  top  of  wood,  and  as  he  looked 
between  them  from  the  canvas  cot  he  recog 
nized  them  as  the  prison-bars  which  held  him 
in.  Outside  his  prison  lay  a  stretch  of  blinding 
blue  water  which  ended  in  a  line  of  breakers 
and  a  yellow  coast  with  ragged  palms.  Be 
yond  that  again  rose  a  range  of  mountain- 
peaks,  and,  stuck  upon  the  loftiest  peak  of  all, 
a  tiny  block-house.  It  rested  on  the  brow  of 
the  mountain  against  the  naked  sky  as  impu 
dently  as  a  cracker-box  set  upon  the  dome  of 
a  great  cathedral. 

As  the  transport  rode  on  her  anchor-chains, 
the  iron  bars  around  her  sides  rose  and  sank 
and  divided  the  landscape  with  parallel  lines. 
From  his  cot  the  officer  followed  this  phe 
nomenon  with  severe,  painstaking  interest. 
Sometimes  the  wooden  rail  swept  up  to  the 
72 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

very  block-house  itself,  and  for  a  second  of 
time  blotted  it  from  sight.  And  again  it 
sank  to  the  level  of  the  line  of  breakers,  and 
wiped  them  out  of  the  picture  as  though  they 
were  a  line  of  chalk. 

The  soldier  on  the  cot  promised  himself 
that  the  next  swell  of  the  sea  would  send  the 
lowest  rail  climbing  to  the  very  top  of  the 
palm-trees  or,  even  higher,  to  the  base  of  the 
mountains  ;  and  when  it  failed  to  reach  even 
the  palm-trees  he  felt  a  distinct  sense  of  ill  use, 
of  having  been  wronged  by  some  one.  There 
was  no  other  reason  for  submitting  to  this 
existence,  save  these  tricks  upon  the  weari 
some,  glaring  landscape  ;  and,  now,  whoever 
it  was  who  was  working  them  did  not  seem 
to  be  making  this  effort  to  entertain  him  with 
any  heartiness. 

It  was  most  cruel.  Indeed,  he  decided 
hotly,  it  was  not  to  be  endured ;  he  would 
bear  it  no  longer,  he  would  make  his  escape. 
But  he  knew  that  this  move,  which  could  be 
conceived  in  a  moment's  desperation,  could 
only  be  carried  to  success  with  great  strategy, 
secrecy,  and  careful  cunning.  So  he  fell 
back  upon  his  pillow  and  closed  his  eyes,  as 
73 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

though  he  were  asleep,  and  then  opening 
them  again,  turned  cautiously,  and  spied  upon 
his  keeper.  As  usual,  his  keeper  sat  at  the 
foot  of  the  cot  turning  the  pages  of  a  huge 
paper  filled  with  pictures  of  the  war  printed 
in  daubs  of  tawdry  colors.  His  keeper  was 
a  hard-faced  boy  without  human  pity  or  con 
sideration,  a  very  devil  of  obstinacy  and 
fiendish  cruelty.  To  make  it  worse,  the  fiend 
was  a  person  without  a  collar,  in  a  suit  of 
soiled  khaki,  with  a  curious  red  cross  bound 
by  a  safety-pin  to  his  left  arm.  He  was  in 
tent  upon  the  paper  in  his  hands;  he  was 
holding  it  between  his  eyes  and  his  prisoner. 
His  vigilance  had  relaxed,  and  the  moment 
seemed  propitious.  With  a  sudden  plunge 
of  arms  and  legs,  the  prisoner  swept  the  bed- 
sheet  from  him,  and  sprang  at  the  wooden 
rail  and  grasped  the  iron  stanchion  beside  it. 
He  had  his  knee  pressed  against  the  top  bar 
and  his  bare  toes  on  the  iron  rail  beneath 
it.  Below  him  the  blue  water  waited  for 
him.  It  was  cool  and  dark  and  gentle  and 
deep.  It  would  certainly  put  out  the  fire  in  his 
bones,  he  thought ;  it  might  even  shut  out  the 
glare  of  the  sun  which  scorched  his  eyeballs. 
74 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

But  as  he  balanced  for  the  leap,  a  swift 
weakness  and  nausea  swept  over  him,  a  weight 
seized  upon  his  body  and  limbs.  He  could 
not  lift  the  lower  foot  from  the  iron  rail,  and 
he  swayed  dizzily  and  trembled.  He  trembled. 
He  who  had  raced  his  men  and  beaten  them 
up  the  hot  hill  to  the  trenches  of  San  Juan. 
But  now  he  was  a  baby  in  the  hands  of  a  giant, 
who  caught  him  by  the  wrist  and  with  an  iron 
arm  clasped  him  around  his  waist  and  pulled 
him  down,  and  shouted,  brutally,  "  Help, 
some  of  you  'se,  quick  ;  he  's  at  it  again.  I 
can't  hold  him." 

More  giants  grasped  him  by  the  arms  and 
by  the  legs.  One  of  them  took  the  hand  that 
clung  to  the  stanchion  in  both  of  his,  and 
pulled  back  the  fingers  one  by  one,  saying, 
"  Easy  now,  Lieutenant  —  easy." 

The  ragged  palms  and  the  sea  and  block 
house  were  swallowed  up  in  a  black  fog,  and 
his  body  touched  the  canvas  cot  again  with 
a  sense  of  home-coming  and  relief  and  rest. 
He  wondered  how  he  could  have  cared  to 
escape  from  it.  He  found  it  so  good  to  be  back 
again  that  for  a  long  time  he  wept  quite  hap 
pily,  until  the  fiery  pillow  was  moist  and  cool. 
75 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

The  world  outside  of  the  iron  bars  was 
like  a  scene  in  a  theatre  set  for  some  great 
event,  but  the  actors  were  never  ready.  He 
remembered  confusedly  a  play  he  had  once 
witnessed  before  that  same  scene.  Indeed, 
he  believed  he  had  played  some  small  part 
in  it;  but  he  remembered  it  dimly,  and  all 
trace  of  the  men  who  had  appeared  with 
him  in  it  was  gone.  He  had  reasoned  it  out 
that  they  were  up  there  behind  the  range 
of  mountains,  because  great  heavy  wagons 
and  ambulances  and  cannon  were  emptied 
from  the  ships  at  the  wharf  above  and  were 
drawn  away  in  long  lines  behind  the  ragged 
palms,  moving  always  toward  the  passes 
between  the  peaks.  At  times  he  was  dis 
turbed  by  the  thought  that  he  should  be  up 
and  after  them,  that  some  tradition  of  duty 
made  his  presence  with  them  imperative. 
There  was  much  to  be  done  back  of  the 
mountains.  Some  event  of  momentous  im 
port  was  being  carried  forward  there,  in 
which  he  held  a  part ;  but  the  doubt  soon 
passed  from  him,  and  he  was  content  to  lie 
and  watch  the  iron  bars  rising  and  falling 
between  the  block-house  and  the  white  surf. 
76 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

If  they  had  been  only  humanely  kind,  his 
lot  would  have  been  bearable,  but  they 
starved  him  and  held  him  down  when  he 
wished  to  rise  ;  and  they  would  not  put  out 
the  fire  in  the  pillow,  which  they  might 
easily  have  done  by  the  simple  expedient  of 
.throwing  it  over  the  ship's  side  into  the  sea. 
He  himself  had  done  this  twice,  but  the 
keeper  had  immediately  brought  a  fresh 
pillow  already  heated  for  the  torture  and 
forced  it  under  his  head. 

His  pleasures  were  very  simple,  and  so 
few  that  he  could  not  understand  why  they 
robbed  him  of  them  so  jealously.  One  was 
to  watch  a  green  cluster  of  bananas  that 
hung  above  him  from  the  awning  twirling 
on  a  string.  He  could  count  as  many  of 
them  as  five  before  the  bunch  turned  and 
swung  lazily  back  again,  when  he  could 
count  as  high  as  twelve;  sometimes  when 
the  ship  rolled  heavily  he  could  count  to 
twenty.  It  was  a  most  fascinating  game, 
and  contented  him  for  many  hours.  But 
when  they  found  this  out  they  sent  for  the 
cook  to  come  and  cut  them  down,  and  the 
cook  carried  them  away  to  his  galley. 
77 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

Then,  one  day,  a  man  came  out  from  the 
shore,  swimming  through  the  blue  water 
with  great  splashes.  He  was  a  most  charm 
ing  man,  who  spluttered  and  dove  and  twisted 
and  lay  on  his  back  and  kicked  his  legs  in 
an  excess  of  content  and  delight.  It  was  a 
real  pleasure  to  watch  him;  not  for  days 
had  anything  so  amusing  appeared  on  the 
other  side  of  the  prison-bars.  But  as  soon 
as  the  keeper  saw  that  the  man  in  the  water 
was  amusing  his  prisoner,  he  leaned  over 
the  ship's  side  and  shouted,  "  Sa-ay,  you, 
don't  you  know  there's  sharks  in  there?" 

And  the  swimming  man  said,  "  The  h — 11 
there  is !  "  and  raced  back  to  the  shore  like 
a  porpoise  with  great  lashing  of  the  water, 
and  ran  up  the  beach  half-way  to  the  palms 
before  he  was  satisfied  to  stop.  Then  the 
prisoner  wept  again.  It  was  so  disappoint 
ing.  Life  was  robbed  of  everything  now. 
He  remembered  that  in  a  previous  existence 
soldiers  who  cried  were  laughed  at  and 
mocked.  But  that  was  so  far  away  and  it 
was  such  an  absurd  superstition  that  he  had 
no  patience  with  it.  For  what  could  be 
more  comforting  to  a  man  when  he  is  treated 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

cruelly  than  to  cry.  It  was  so  obvious  an 
exercise,  and  when  one  is  so  feeble  that  one 
cannot  vault  a  four-railed  barrier  it  is  some 
thing  to  feel  that  at  least  one  is  strong  enough 
to  cry. 

He  escaped  occasionally,  traversing  space 
with  marvellous  rapidity  and  to  great  dis 
tances,  but  never  to  any  successful  purpose ; 
and  his  flight  inevitably  ended  in  ignominious 
recapture  and  a  sudden  awakening  in  bed. 
At  these  moments  the  familiar  and  hated 
palms,  the  peaks  and  the  block-house  were 
more  hideous  in  their  reality  than  the  most 
terrifying  of  his  nightmares. 

These  excursions  afield  were  always  pre 
datory;  he  went  forth  always  to  seek  food. 
With  all  the  beautiful  world  from  which  to 
elect  and  choose,  he  sought  out  only  those 
places  where  eating  was  studied  and  elevated 
to  an  art.  These  visits  were  much  more 
vivid  in  their  detail  than  any  he  had  ever 
before  made  to  these  same  resorts.  They 
invariably  began  in  a  carriage,  which  carried 
him  swiftly  over  smooth  asphalt.  One  route 
brought  him  across  a  great  and  beautiful 
square,  radiating  with  rows  and  rows  of 
79 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

flickering  lights;  two  fountains  splashed  in 
the  centre  of  the  square,  and  six  women  of 
stone  guarded  its  approaches.  One  of  the 
women  was  hung  with  wreaths  of  mourning. 
Ahead  of  him  the  late  twilight  darkened  be 
hind  a  great  arch,  which  seemed  to  rise  on 
the  horizon  of  the  world,  a  great  window 
into  the  heavens  beyond.  At  either  side 
strings  of  white  and  colored  globes  hung 
among  the  trees,  and  the  sound  of  music 
came  joyfully  from  theatres  in  the  open  air. 
He  knew  the  restaurant  under  the  trees  to 
which  he  was  now  hastening,  and  the  foun 
tain  beside  it,  and  the  very  sparrows  balanc 
ing  on  the  fountain's  edge ;  he  knew  every 
waiter  at  each  of  the  tables,  he  felt  again 
the  gravel  crunching  under  his  feet,  he  saw 
the  mattre  d' hotel  coming  forward  smiling  to 
receive  his  command,  and  the  waiter  in  the 
green  apron  bowing  at  his  elbow,  deferen 
tial  and  important,  presenting  the  list  of 
wines.  But  his  adventure  never  passed  that 
point,  for  he  was  captured  again  and  once 
more  bound  to  his  cot  with  a  close  burning 
sheet. 

Or  else,  he  drove  more  sedately  through 
80 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

the  London  streets  in  the  late  evening  twi 
light,  leaning  expectantly  across  the  doors 
of  the  hansom  and  pulling  carefully  at  his 
white  gloves.  Other  hansoms  flashed  past 
him,  the  occupant  of  each  with  his  mind 
fixed  on  one  idea  —  dinner.  He  was  one 
of  a  million  of  people  who  were  about  to 
dine,  or  who  had  dined,  or  who  were  deep 
in  dining.  He  was  so  famished,  so  weak 
for  food  of  any  quality,  that  the  galloping 
horse  in  the  hansom  seemed  to  crawl.  The 
lights  of  the  Embankment  passed  like  the 
lamps  of  a  railroad  station  as  seen  from 
the  window  of  an  express ;  and  while  his 
mind  was  still  torn  between  the  choice  of 
a  thin  or  thick  soup  or  an  immediate  attack 
upon  cold  beef,  he  was  at  the  door,  and  the 
chasseur  touched  his  cap,  and  the  little  chas 
seur  put  the  wicker  guard  over  the  hansom's 
wheel.  As  he  jumped  out  he  said,  "  Give 
him  half-a-crown,"  and  the  driver  called  after 
him,  "Thank  you,  sir." 

It  was  a  beautiful  world,  this  world   out 
side  of  the  iron  bars.     Every  one  in  it  con 
tributed  to  his  pleasure  and  to  his   comfort. 
In   this  world  he  was  not  starved  nor  man- 
6  81 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

handled.  He  thought  of  this  joyfully  as  he 
leaped  up  the  stairs,  where  young  men  with 
grave  faces  and  with  their  hands  held  negli 
gently  behind  their  backs  bowed  to  him  in 
polite  surprise  at  his  speed.  But  they  had 
not  been  starved  on  condensed  milk.  He 
threw  his  coat  and  hat  at  one  of  them,  and 
came  down  the  hall  fearfully  and  quite  weak 
with  dread  lest  it  should  not  be  real.  His 
voice  was  shaking  when  he  asked  Ellis  if  he 
had  reserved  a  table.  The  place  was  all  so 
real,  it  must  be  true  this  time.  The  way 
Ellis  turned  and  ran  his  finger  down  the  list 
showed  it  was  real,  because  Ellis  always  did 
that,  even  when  he  knew  there  would  not  be 
an  empty  table  for  an  hour.  The  room  was 
crowded  with  beautiful  women;  under  the 
light  of  the  red  shades  they  looked  kind  and 
approachable,  and  there  was  food  on  every 
table,  and  iced  drinks  in  silver  buckets.  It 
was  with  the  joy  of  great  relief  that  he  heard 
Ellis  say  to  his  underling,  "  Numero  cinq, 
sur  la  terrace,  un  couvert."  It  was  real  at 
last.  Outside,  the  Thames  lay  a  great  gray 
shadow.  The  lights  of  the  Embankment 
flashed  and  twinkled  across  it,  the  tower  of 
82 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

the  House  of  Commons  rose  against  the  sky, 
and  here,  inside,  the  waiter  was  hurrying 
toward  him  carrying  a  smoking  plate  of  rich 
soup  with  a  pungent  intoxicating  odor. 

And  then  the  ragged  palms,  the  glaring 
sun,  the  immovable  peaks,  and  the  white 
surf  stood  again  before  him.  The  iron  rails 
swept  up  and  sank  again,  the  fever  sucked  at 
his  bones,  and  the  pillow  scorched  his  cheek. 

One  morning  for  a  brief  moment  he  came 
back  to  real  life  again  and  lay  quite  still, 
seeing  everything  about  him  with  clear  eyes 
and  for  the  first  time,  as  though  he  had  but 
just  that  instant  been  lifted  over  the  ship's 
side.  His  keeper,  glancing  up,  found  the 
prisoner's  eyes  considering  him  curiously, 
and  recognized  the  change.  The  instinct  of 
discipline  brought  him  to  his  feet  with  his 
fingers  at  his  sides. 

"  Is  the  Lieutenant  feeling  better?  " 

The  Lieutenant  surveyed  him  gravely. 

"  You  are  one  of  our  hospital  stewards." 

"Yes,  Lieutenant." 

"  Why  ar'  n't  you  with  the  regiment  ?  " 

"  I  was  wounded,  too,  sir.  I  got  it  same 
time  you  did,  Lieutenant." 

83 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

"Am  I  wounded?  Of  course,  I  remem 
ber.  Is  this  a  hospital  ship?" 

The  steward  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"  She 's  one  of  the  transports.  They  have 
turned  her  over  to  the  fever  cases." 

The  Lieutenant  opened  his  lips  to  ask  an 
other  question ;  but  his  own  body  answered 
that  one,  and  for  a  moment  he  lay  silent. 

"  Do  they  know  up  North  that  I  —  that 
I'm  all  right?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  papers  had  it  in  —  there 
was  pictures  of  the  Lieutenant  in  some  of 
them." 

"Then  I've  been  ill  some  time?" 

"  Oh,  about  eight  days." 

The  soldier  moved  uneasily,  and  the  nurse 
in  him  became  uppermost. 

"  I  guess  the  Lieutenant  had  n't  better  talk 
any  more,"  he  said.  It  was  his  voice  now 
which  held  authority. 

The  Lieutenant  looked  out  at  the  palms 
and  the  silent  gloomy  mountains  and  the 
empty  coast-line,  where  the  same  wave  was 
rising  and  falling  with  weary  persistence. 

"  Eight  days,"  he  said.  His  eyes  shut 
quickly,  as  though  with  a  sudden  touch  of 
84 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

pain.  He  turned  his  head  and  sought  for  the 
figure  at  the  foot  of  the  cot.  Already  the 
figure  had  grown  faint  and  was  receding  and 
swaying. 

"Has  any  one  written  or  cabled?"  the 
Lieutenant  spoke,  hurriedly.-  He  Bwas  fearful 
lest  the  figure  should  disappear  altogether 
before  he  could  obtain  his  answer.  "  Has 
any  one  come?  " 

"  Why,  they  could  n't  get  here,  Lieutenant, 
not  yet." 

The  voice  came  very  faintly.  "  You  go  to 
sleep  now,  and  I  '11  run  and  fetch  some  letters 
and  telegrams.  When  you  wake  up,  may  be 
I  '11  have  a  lot  for  you." 

But  the  Lieutenant  caught  the  nurse  by  the 
wrist,  and  crushed  his  hand  in  his  own  thin 
fingers.  They  were  hot,  and  left  the  stew 
ard's  skin  wet  with  perspiration.  The  Lieu 
tenant  laughed  gayly. 

"  You  see,  Doctor,"  he  said,  briskly,  "  that 
you  can't  kill  me.  I  can't  die.  I  Ve  got  to 
live,  you  understand.  Because,  sir,  she  said 
she  would  come.  She  said  if  I  was  wounded, 
or  if  I  was  ill,  she  would  come  to  me.  She 
did  n't  care  what  people  thought.  She  would 
85 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

come  any  way  and  nurse  me  —  well,  she  will 
come. 

"  So,  Doctor  —  old  man  —  "  He  plucked 
at  the  steward's  sleeve,  and  stroked  his  hand 
eagerly,  "  old  man  —  "  he  began  again,  be 
seechingly,  "  you  '11  not  let  me  die  until  she 
comes,  will  you?  What?  No,  I  know  I  won't 
die.  Nothing  made  by  man  can  kill  me 
No,  not  until  she  comes.  Then,  after  that  — 
eight  days,  she  '11  be  here  soon,  any  moment? 
What?  You  think  so,  too?  Don't  you? 
Surely,  yes,  any  moment.  Yes,  I  '11  go  to 
sleep  now,  and  when  you  see  her  rowing  out 
from  shore  you  wake  me.  You  '11  know  her ; 
you  can't  make  a  mistake.  She  is  like  —  no, 
there  is  no  one  like  her  —  but  you  can't  make 
a  mistake." 

That  day  strange  figures  began  to  mount 
the  sides  of  the  ship,  and  to  occupy  its  every 
turn  and  angle  of  space.  Some  of  them  fell 
on  their  knees  and  slapped  the  bare  deck 
with  their  hands,  and  laughed  and  cried  out, 
"  Thank  God,  I  '11  see  God's  country  again  !  " 
Some  of  them  were  regulars,  bound  in  ban 
dages  ;  some  were  volunteers,  dirty  and  hol 
low-eyed,  with  long  beards  on  boys'  faces. 
86 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

Some  came  on  crutches;  others  with  their 
arms  around  the  shoulders  of  their  comrades, 
staring  ahead  of  them  with  a  fixed  smile,  their 
lips  drawn  back  and  their  teeth  protruding. 
At  every  second  step  they  stumbled,  and  the 
face  of  each  was  swept  by  swift  ripples  of 
pain. 

They  lay  on  cots  so  close  together  that  the 
nurses  could  not  walk  between  them.  They 
lay  on  the  wet  decks,  in  the  scuppers,  and 
along  the  transoms  and  hatches.  They  were 
like  shipwrecked  mariners  clinging  to  a  raft, 
and  they  asked  nothing  more  than  that  the 
ship's  bow  be  turned  toward  home.  Once 
satisfied  as  to  that,  they  relaxed  into  a  state 
of  self-pity  and  miserable  oblivion  to  their 
environment,  from  which  hunger  nor  nausea 
nor  aching  bones  could  shake  them. 

The  hospital  steward  touched  the  Lieuten 
ant  lightly  on  the  shoulder. 

"We  are  going  North,  sir,"  he  said.  "  The 
transport 's  ordered  North  to  New  York,  with 
these  volunteers  and  the  sick  and  wounded. 
Do  you  hear  me,  sir?  " 

The   Lieutenant   opened   his   eyes.     "  Has 
she  come?"  he  asked. 
87 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

"  Gee  !  "  exclaimed  the  hospital  steward. 
He  glanced  impatiently  at  the  blue  mountains 
and  the  yellow  coast,  from  which  the  trans 
port  was  drawing  rapidly  away. 

"  Well,  I  can't  see  her  coming  just  now," 
he  said.  "  But  she  will,"  he  added. 

"  You  let  me  know  at  once  when  she 
comes." 

"  Why,  cert'nly,  of  course,"  said  the  steward. 

Three  trained  nurses  came  over  the  side 
just  before  the  transport  started  North.  One 
was  a  large,  motherly-looking  woman,  with 
a  German  accent.  She  had  been  a  trained 
nurse,  first  in  Berlin,  and  later  in  the  London 
Hospital  in  Whitechapel,  and  at  Bellevue. 
The  nurse  was  dressed  in  white,  and  wore  a 
little  silver  medal  at  her  throat ;  and  she  was 
strong  enough  to  lift  a  volunteer  out  of  his 
cot  and  hold  him  easily  in  her  arms,  while 
one  of  the  convalescents  pulled  his  cot  out  of 
the  rain.  Some  of  the  men  called  her 
"  nurse  ;  "  others,  who  wore  scapulars  around 
their  necks,  called  her  "  Sister ; "  and  the 
officers  of  the  medical  staff  addressed  her  as 
Miss  Bergen. 

Miss  Bergen  halted  beside  the  cot  of  the 
38 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

Lieutenant  and  asked,  "  Is  this  the  fever  case 
you  spoke  about,  Doctor —  the  one  you  want 
moved  to  the  officers'  ward?"  She  slipped 
her  hand  up  under  his  sleeve  and  felt  his  wrist. 

"  His  pulse  is  very  high,"  she  said  to  the 
steward.  "  When  did  you  take  his  tempera 
ture?"  She  drew  a  little  morocco  case  from 
her  pocket  and  from  that  took  a  clinical 
thermometer,  which  she  shook  up  and  down, 
eying  the  patient  meanwhile  with  a  calm,  im 
personal  scrutiny.  The  Lieutenant  raised 
his  head  and  stared  up  at  the  white  figure 
beside  his  cot.  His  eyes  opened  and  then 
shut  quickly,  with  a  startled  look,  in  which 
doubt  struggled  with  wonderful  happiness. 
His  hand  stole  out  fearfully  and  warily  until 
it  touched  her  apron,  and  then,  finding  it  was 
real,  he  clutched  it  desperately,  and  twisting 
his  face  and  body  toward  her,  pulled  her 
down,  clasping  her  hands  in  both  of  his,  and 
pressing  them  close  to  his  face  and  eyes  and 
lips.  He  put  them  from  him  for  an  instant, 
and  looked  at  her  through  his  tears. 

"  Sweetheart,"  he  whispered,  "  sweetheart, 
I  knew  you  'd  come." 

As  the  nurse  knelt  on  the  deck  beside  him, 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

her  thermometer  slipped  from  her  fingers 
and  broke,  and  she  gave  an  exclamation  of 
annoyance.  The  young  Doctor  picked  up 
the  pieces  and  tossed  them  overboard. 
Neither  of  them  spoke,  but  they  smiled  ap 
preciatively.  The  Lieutenant  was  looking  at 
the  nurse  with  the  wonder  and  hope  and  hun 
ger  of  soul  in  his  eyes  with  which  a  dying 
man  looks  at  the  cross  the  priest  holds  up 
before  him.  What  he  saw  where  the  German 
nurse  was  kneeling  was  a  tall,  fair  girl  with 
great  bands  and  masses  of  hair,  with  a  head 
rising  like  a  lily  from  a  firm,  white  throat,  set 
on  broad  shoulders  above  a  straight  back  and 
sloping  breast  —  a  tall,  beautiful  creature, 
half-girl,  half-woman,  who  looked  back  at 
him  shyly,  but  steadily. 

"  Listen,"  he  said. 

The  voice  of  the  sick  man  was  so  sure  and 
so  sane  that  the  young  Doctor  started,  and 
moved  nearer  to  the  head  of  the  cot.  "  Lis 
ten,  dearest,"  the  Lieutenant  whispered.  "  I 
wanted  to  tell  you  before  I  came  South.  But 
I  did  not  dare  ;  and  then  I  was  afraid  some 
thing  might  happen  to  me,  and  I  could  never 
tell  you,  and  you  would  never  know.  So  I 
90 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

wrote  it  to  you  in  the  will  I  made  at  Baiquiri, 
the  night  before  the  landing.  If  you  had  n't 
come  now,  you  would  have  learned  it  in  that 
way.  You  would  have  read  there  that  there 
never  was  any  one  but  you  ;  the  rest  were  all 
dream  people,  foolish,  silly — mad.  There 
is  no  one  else  in  the  world  but  you  ;  you 
have  been  the  only  thing  in  life  that  has 
counted.  I  thought  I  might  do  something 
down  here  that  would  make  you  care.  But  I 
got  shot  going  up  a  hill,  and  after  that  I 
was  n't  able  to  do  anything.  It  was  very  hot, 
and  the  hills  were  on  fire  ;  and  they  took  me 
prisoner,  and  kept  me  tied  down  here,  burn 
ing  on  these  coals.  I  can't  live  much  longer, 
but  now  that  I  have  told  you  I  can  have 
peace.  They  tried  to  kill  me  before  you 
came;  but  they  didn't  know  I  loved  you, 
they  did  n't  know  that  men  who  love 
you  can't  die.  They  tried  to  starve  my  love 
for  you,  to  burn  it  out  of  me  ;  they  tried  to 
reach  it  with  their  knives.  But  my  love  for 
you  is  my  soul,  and  they  can't  kill  a  man's 
soul.  Dear  heart,  I  have  lived  because  you 
lived.  Now  that  you  know  —  now  that  you 
understand  —  what  does  it  matter?  " 
91 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

Miss  Bergen  shook  her  head  with  great 
vigor.  "Nonsense,"  she  said,  cheerfully. 
"  You  are  not  going  to  die.  As  soon  as  we 
move  you  out  of  this  rain,  and  some  food 
cook  —  " 

"  Good  God !  "  cried  the  young  Doctor, 
savagely.  "  Do  you  want  to  kill  him?" 

When  she  spoke  the  patient  had  thrown 
his  arms  heavily  across  his  face,  and  had 
fallen  back,  lying  rigid  on  the  pillow. 

The  Doctor  led  the  way  across  the 
prostrate  bodies,  apologizing  as  he  went.  "  I 
am  sorry  I  spoke  so  quickly,"  he  said,  "  but  he 
thought  you  were  real.  I  mean  he  thought 
you  were  some  one  he  really  knew — " 

"  He  was  just  delirious,"  said  the  German 
nurse,  calmly. 

The  Doctor  mixed  himself  a  Scotch  and 
soda  and  drank  it  with  a  single  gesture. 

"  Ugh  !  "  he  said  to  the  ward-room.  "  I 
feel  as  though  I  'd  been  opening  another 
man's  letters." 

The   transport  drove  through   the   empty 
seas  with   heavy,  clumsy  upheavals,   rolling 
like    a   buoy.      Having    been   originally   in- 
92 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

tended  for  the  freight-carrying  trade,  she 
had  no  sympathy  with  hearts  that  beat  for 
a  sight  of  their  native  land,  or  for  lives  that 
counted  their  remaining  minutes  by  the 
throbbing  of  her  engines.  Occasionally, 
without  apparent  reason,  she  was  thrown 
violently  from  her  course :  but  it  was  invari 
ably  the  case  that  when  her  stern  went  to 
starboard,  something  splashed  in  the  water 
on  her  port  side  and  drifted  past  her,  until, 
when  it  had  cleared  the  blades  of  her  pro 
peller,  a  voice  cried  out,  and  she  was  swung 
back  on  her  home-bound  track  again. 

The  Lieutenant  missed  the  familiar  palms 
and  the  tiny  block-house;  and  seeing  noth 
ing  beyond  the  iron  rails  but  great  wastes 
of  gray  water,  he  decided  he  was  on  board 
a  prison-ship,  or  that  he  had  been  strapped 
to  a  raft  and  cast  adrift.  People  came  for 
hours  at  a  time  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  his 
cot,  and  talked  with  him  and  he  to  them  - 
people  he  had  loved  and  people  he  had  long 
forgotten,  some  of  whom  he  had  thought 
were  dead.  One  of  them  he  could  have 
sworn  he  had  seen  buried  in  a  deep  trench, 
and  covered  with  branches  of  palmetto.  He 
93 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

had  heard  the  bugler,  with  tears  choking 
him,  sound  "  taps ;  "  and  with  his  own  hand 
he  had  placed  the  dead  man's  campaign  hat 
on  the  mound  of  fresh  earth  above  the  grave. 
Yet  here  he  was  still  alive,  and  he  came  with 
other  men  of  his  troop  to  speak  to  him  ;  but 
when  he  reached  out  to  them  they  were  gone 
—  the  real  and  the  unreal,  the  dead  and  the 
living  —  and  even  She  disappeared  whenever 
he  tried  to  take  her  hand,  and  sometimes  the 
hospital  steward  drove  her  away. 

"  Did  that  young  lady  say  when  she 
was  coming  back  again?"  he  asked  the 
steward. 

"The  young  lady!  What  young  lady?" 
asked  the  steward,  wearily. 

"  The  one  who  has  been  sitting  there," 
he  answered.  He  pointed  with  his  gaunt 
hand  at  the  man  in  the  next  cot. 

"  Oh,  that  young  lady.  Yes,  she 's  com 
ing  back.  She 's  just  gone  below  to  fetch 
you  some  hard-tack." 

The  young  volunteer  in  the  next  cot 
whined  grievously. 

"That  crazy  man  gives  me  the  creeps," 
he  groaned.  "  He 's  always  waking  me  up, 
94 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

and  looking  at  me  as  though  he  was  going 
to  eat  me." 

"  Shut  your  head,"  said  the  steward. 
"He's  a  better  man  crazy  than  you'll  ever 
be  with  the  little  sense  you  Ve  got.  And  he 
has  two  Mauser  holes  in  him.  Crazy,  eh? 
It 's  a  damned  good  thing  for  you  that  there 
was  about  four  thousand  of  us  regulars  just 
as  crazy  as  him,  or  you  'd  never  seen  the  top 
of  the  hill." 

One  morning  there  was  a  great  commo 
tion  on  deck,  and  all  the  convalescents 
balanced  themselves  on  the  rail,  shivering 
in  their  pajamas,  and  pointed  one  way.  The 
transport  was  moving  swiftly  and  smoothly 
through  water  as  flat  as  a  lake,  and  making 
a  great  noise  with  her  steam-whistle.  The 
noise  was  echoed  by  many  more  steam- 
whistles  ;  and  the  ghosts  of  out-bound  ships 
and  tugs  and  excursion  steamers  ran  past 
her  out  of  the  mist  and  disappeared,  saluting 
joyously.  All  of  the  excursion  steamers 
had  a  heavy  list  to  the  side  nearest  the  trans 
port,  and  the  ghosts  on  them  crowded  to  that 
rail  and  waved  handkerchiefs  and  cheered. 
The  fog  lifted  suddenly,  and  between  the  iron 
95 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

rails  the  Lieutenant  saw  high  green  hills  on 
either  side  of  a  great  harbor.  Houses  and 
trees  and  thousands  of  masts  swept  past  like 
a  panorama;  and  beyond  was  a  mirage  of 
three  cities,  with  curling  smoke-wreaths  and 
sky-reaching  buildings,  and  a  great  swinging 
bridge,  and  a  giant  statue  of  a  woman  wav 
ing  a  welcome  home. 

The  Lieutenant  surveyed  the  spectacle  with 
cynical  disbelief.  He  was  far  too  wise  and 
far  too  cunning  to  be  bewitched  by  it.  In 
his  heart  he  pitied  the  men  about  him,  who 
laughed  wildly,  and  shouted,  and  climbed 
recklessly  to  the  rails  and  ratlines.  He  had 
been  deceived  too  often  not  to  know  that  it 
was  not  real.  He  knew  from  cruel  experi 
ence  that  in  a  few  moments  the  tall  buildings 
would  crumble  away,  the  thousands  of  col 
umns  of  white  smoke  that  flashed  like  snow 
in  the  sun,  the  busy,  shrieking  tug-boats,  and 
the  great  statue  would  vanish  into  the  sea, 
leaving  it  gray  and  bare.  He  closed  his  eyes 
and  shut  the  vision  out.  It  was  so  beautiful 
that  it  tempted  him ;  but  he  would  not  be 
mocked,  and  he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 
They  were  carrying  the  farce  too  far,  he 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

thought.  It  was  really  too  absurd ;  for  now 
they  were  at  a  wharf  which  was  so  real  that, 
had  he  not  known  by  previous  suffering,  he 
would  have  been  utterly  deceived  by  it.  And 
there  were  great  crowds  of  smiling,  cheering 
people,  and  a  waiting  guard  of  honor  in  fresh 
uniforms,  and  rows  of  police  pushing  the  peo 
ple  this  way  and  that;  and  these  men  about 
him  were  taking  it  all  quite  seriously,  and 
making  ready  to  disembark,  carrying  their 
blanket-rolls  and  rifles  with  them. 

A  band  was  playing  joyously,  and  the  man 
in  the  next  cot,  who  was  being  lifted  to  a 
stretcher,  said,  "  There 's  the  Governor  and 
his  staff;  that's  him  in  the  high  hat."  It  was 
really  very  well  done.  The  Custom-house 
and  the  Elevated  Railroad  and  Castle  Garden 
were  as  like  to  life  as  a  photograph,  and  the 
crowd  was  as  well  handled  as  a  mob  in  a 
play.  His  heart  ached  for  it  so  that  he  could 
not  bear  the  pain,  and  he  turned  his  back  on 
it.  It  was  cruel  to  keep  it  up  so  long.  His 
keeper  lifted  him  in  his  arms,  and  pulled  him 
into  a  dirty  uniform  which  had  belonged,  ap 
parently,  to  a  much  larger  man  —  a  man  who 
had  been  killed  probably,  for  there  were 
7  97 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

dark-brown  marks  of  blood  on  the  tunic  and 
breeches.  When  he  tried  to  stand  on  his 
feet,  Castle  Garden  and  the  Battery  disap 
peared  in  a  black  cloud  of  night,  just  as  he 
knew  they  would ;  but  when  he  opened  his 
eyes  from  the  stretcher,  they  had  returned 
again.  It  was  a  most  remarkably  vivid  vision. 
They  kept  it  up  so  well.  Now  the  young 
Doctor  and  the  hospital  steward  were  pre 
tending  to  carry  him  down  a  gang-plank  and 
into  an  open  space ;  and  he  saw  quite  close 
to  him  a  long  line  of  policemen,  and  behind 
them  thousands  of  faces,  some  of  them 
women's  faces  —  women  who  pointed  at  him 
and  then  shook  their  heads  and  cried,  and 
pressed  their  hands  to  their  cheeks,  still 
looking  at  him.  He  wondered  why  they 
cried.  He  did  not  know  them,  nor  did  they 
know  him.  No  one  knew  him ;  these  people 
were  only  ghosts. 

There  was  a  quick  parting  in  the  crowd. 
A  man  he  had  once  known  shoved  two  of 
the  policemen  to  one  side,  and  he  heard  a 
girl's  voice  speaking  his  name,  like  a  sob; 
and  She  came  running  out  across  the  open 
space  and  fell  on  her  knees  beside  the 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

stretcher,  and  bent  down  over  him,  and  he 
was  clasped  in  two  young,  firm  arms. 

"  Of  course  it  is  not  real,  of  course  it  is  not 
She,"  he  assured  himself.  "  Because  She 
would  not  do  such  a  thing.  Before  all  these 
people  She  would  not  do  it." 

But  he  trembled  and  his  heart  throbbed  so 
cruelly  that  he  could  not  bear  the  pain. 

She  was  pretending  to  cry. 

"  They  wired  us  you  had  started  for  Tampa 
on  the  hospital  ship,"  She  was  saying,  "  and 
Aunt  and  I  went  all  the  way  there  before  we 
heard  you  had  been  sent  North.  We  have 
been  on  the  cars  a  week.  That  is  why  I 
missed  you.  Do  you  understand?  It  was 
not  my  fault.  I  tried  to  come.  Indeed,  I 
tried  to  come." 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  up  fear 
fully  at  the  young  Doctor. 

"  Tell  me,  why  does  he  look  at  me  like 
that?"  she  asked.  "He  doesn't  know  me. 
Is  he  very  ill?  Tell  me  the  truth."  She 
drew  in  her  breath  quickly.  "  Of  course  you 
will  tell  me  the  truth." 

When  she  asked  the  question  he  felt  her 
arms  draw  tight  about  his  shoulders.  It  was 
99 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

as  though  she  was  holding  him  to  herself, 
and  from  some  one  who  had  reached  out 
for  him.  In  his  trouble  he  turned  to  his 
old  friend  and  keeper.  His  voice  was  hoarse 
and  very  low. 

"  Is  this  the  same  young  lady  who  was  on 
the  transport  —  the  one  you  used  to  drive 
away? " 

In  his  embarrassment,  the  hospital  steward 
blushed  under  his  tan,  and  stammered. 

"Of  course  it's  the  same  young  lady,"  the 
Doctor  answered  briskly.  "  And  I  won't  let 
them  drive  her  away."  He  turned  to  her, 
smiling  gravely.  "  I  think  his  condition  has 
ceased  to  be  dangerous,  madam,"  he  said. 

People  who  in  a  former  existence  had  been 
his  friends,  and  Her  brother,  gathered  about 
his  stretcher  and  bore  him  through  the  crowd 
and  lifted  him  into  a  carriage  filled  with 
cushions,  among  which  he  sank  lower  and 
lower.  Then  She  sat  beside  him,  and  he 
heard  Her  brother  say  to  the  coachman, 
"  Home,  and  drive  slowly  and  keep  on  the 
asphalt." 

The  carriage  moved  forward,  and  She  put 
her  arm  about  him  and  his  head  fell  on  her 
100 


On  the  Fever  Ship 

shoulder,  and  neither  of  them  spoke.  The 
vision  had  lasted  so  long  now  that  he  was 
torn  with  the  joy  that  after  all  it  might  be 
real.  But  he  could  not  bear  the  awakening 
if  it  were  not,  so  he  raised  his  head  fearfully 
and  looked  up  into  the  beautiful  eyes  above 
him.  His  brows  were  knit,  and  he  struggled 
with  a  great  doubt  and  an  awful  joy. 

"Dearest,"  he  said,  "  is  it  real?" 

"  Is  it  real?"  she  repeated. 

Even  as  a  dream,  it  was  so  wonderfully 
beautiful  that  he  was  satisfied  if  it  could  only 
continue  so,  if  but  for  a  little  while. 

"  Do  you  think,"  he  begged  again,  trem 
bling,  "  that  it  is  going  to  last  much  longer?  " 

She  smiled,  and,  bending  her  head  slowly, 
kissed  him. 

"  It  is  going  to  last  —  always,"  she  said. 


zoi 


The 
Man  with  One  Talent 


*  I  VHE  mass-meeting  in  the  Madison  Square 
Garden  which  was  to  help  set  Cuba 
free  was  finished,  and  the  people  were  push 
ing  their  way  out  of  the  overheated  building 
into  the  snow  and  sleet  of  the  streets.  They 
had  been  greatly  stirred  and  the  spell  of  the 
last  speaker  still  hung  so  heavily  upon  them 
that  as  they  pressed  down  the  long  corridor 
they  were  still  speaking  loudly  in  his  praise. 

A  young  man  moved  eagerly  amongst 
them,  and  pushed  his  way  to  wherever  a 
voice  was  raised  above  the  rest.  He  strained 
forward,  listening  openly,  as  though  he  tried 
to  judge  the  effect  of  the  meeting  by  the  ver 
dict  of  those  about  him. 

But  the  words  he  overheard  seemed  to 
clash  with  what  he  wished  them  to  be,  and 
the  eager  look  on  his  face  changed  to  one  of 

102 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

doubt  and  of  grave  disappointment.  When 
he  had  reached  the  sidewalk  he  stopped  and 
stood  looking  back  alternately  into  the  lighted 
hall  and  at  the  hurrying  crowds  which  were 
dispersing  rapidly.  He  made  a  movement 
as  though  he  would  recall  them,  as  though 
he  felt  they  were  still  unconvinced,  as  though 
there  was  much  still  left  unsaid. 

A  fat  stranger  halted  at  his  elbow  to  light 
his  cigar,  and  glancing  up  nodded  his  head 
approvingly. 

"  Fine  speaker,  Senator  Stanton,  ain't  he?  " 
he  said. 

The  young  man  answered  eagerly.  "Yes," 
he  assented,  "  he  is  a  great  orator,  but  how 
could  he  help  but  speak  well  with  such  a 
subject?" 

"Oh,  you  ought  to  have  heard  him  last 
November  at  Tammany  Hall,"  the  fat  stranger 
answered.  "He  wasn't  quite  up  to  himself 
to-night.  He  was  n't  so  interested.  Those 
Cubans  are  foreigners,  you  see,  but  you 
ought  to  heard  him  last  St.  Patrick's  day 
on  Home  Rule  for  Ireland.  Then  he  was 
talking!  That  speech  made  him  a  United 
States  senator,  I  guess.  I  don't  just  see  how 
103 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

he  expects  to  win  out  on  this  Cuba  game. 
The  Cubans  have  n't  got  no  votes." 

The  young  man  opened  his  eyes  in  some 
bewilderment. 

"  He  speaks  for  the  good  of  Cuba,  for  the 
sake  of  humanity,"  he  ventured. 

"  What?  "  inquired  the  fat  stranger.  "  Oh, 
yes,  of  course.  Well,  I  must  be  getting  on. 
Good-night,  sir." 

The  stranger  moved  on  his  way,  but  the 
young  man  still  lingered  uncertainly  in  the 
snow-swept  corridor  shivering  violently  with 
the  cold  and  stamping  his  feet  for  greater  com 
fort.  His  face  was  burned  to  a  deep  red, 
which  seemed  to  have  come  from  some  long 
exposure  to  a  tropical  sun,  but  which  held 
no  sign  of  health.  His  cheeks  were  hollow 
and  his  eyes  were  lighted  with  the  fire  of 
fever  and  from  time  to  time  he  was  shaken 
by  violent  bursts  of  coughing  which  caused 
him  to  reach  toward  one  of  the  pillars  for 
support. 

As  the  last  of  the  lights  went  out  in  the 

Garden,  the  speaker  of  the  evening  and  three 

of   his   friends    came    laughing    and    talking 

down   the   long    corridor.     Senator   Stanton 

104 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

was  a  conspicuous  figure  at  any  time,  and 
even  in  those  places  where  his  portraits  had 
not  penetrated  he  was  at  once  recognized 
as  a  personage.  Something  in  his  erect 
carriage  and  an  unusual  grace  of  movement, 
and  the  power  and  success  in  his  face,  made 
men  turn  to  look  at  him.  He  had  been 
told  that  he  resembled  the  early  portraits  of 
Henry  Clay,  and  he  had  never  quite  for 
gotten  the  coincidence. 

The  senator  was  wrapping  the  collar  of 
his  fur  coat  around  his  throat  and  puffing 
contentedly  at  a  fresh  cigar,  and  as  he  passed, 
the  night  watchman  and  the  ushers  bowed 
to  the  great  man  and  stood  looking  after 
him  with  the  half-humorous,  half-envious 
deference  that  the  American  voter  pays  to 
the  successful  politician.  At  the  sidewalk, 
the  policemen  hurried  to  open  the  door  of 
his  carriage  and  in  their  eagerness  made  a 
double  line,  through  which  he  passed  nod 
ding  to  them  gravely.  The  young  man  who 
had  stood  so  long  in  waiting  pushed  his  way 
through  the  line  to  his  side. 

"  Senator     Stanton,"     he    began     timidly, 
"might   I    speak   to   you    a   moment?      My 
I05 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

name  is  Arkwright;  I  am  just  back  from 
Cuba,  and  I  want  to  thank  you  for  your 
speech.  I  am  an  American,  and  I  thank 
God  that  I  am  since  you  are  too,  sir.  No 
one  has  said  anything  since  the  war  began 
that  compares  with  what  you  said  to-night. 
You  put  it  nobly,  and  I  know,  for  I  've  been 
there  for  three  years,  only  I  can't  make  other 
people  understand  it,  and  I  am  thankful  that 
some  one  can.  You  '11  forgive  my  stopping 
you,  sir,  but  I  wanted  to  thank  you.  I  feel 
it  very  much." 

Senator  Stanton's  friends  had  already 
seated  themselves  in  his  carriage  and  were 
looking  out  of  the  door  and  smiling  with 
mock  patience.  But  the  senator  made  no 
move  to  follow  them.  Though  they  were 
his  admirers  they  were  sometimes  skeptical, 
and  he  was  not  sorry  that  they  should  hear 
this  uninvited  tribute.  So  he  made  a  pre 
tence  of  buttoning  his  long  coat  about  him, 
and  nodded  encouragingly  to  Arkwright  to 
continue.  "  I  'm  glad  you  liked  it,  sir,"  he 
said  with  the  pleasant,  gracious  smile  that  had 
won  him  a  friend  wherever  it  had  won  him  a 
vote.  "  It  is  very  satisfactory  to  know  from 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

one  who  is  well  informed  on  the  subject  that 
what  I  have  said  is  correct.  The  situation 
there  is  truly  terrible.  You  have  just  re 
turned,  you  say?  Where  were  you  —  in 
Havana?" 

"  No,  in  the  other  provinces,  sir,"  Ark- 
wright  answered.  "  I  have  been  all  over  the 
island,  I  am  a  civil  engineer.  The  truth  has 
not  been  half  told  about  Cuba,  I  assure  you, 
sir.  It  is  massacre  there,  not  war.  It  is  partly 
so  through  ignorance,  but  nevertheless  it  is 
massacre.  And  what  makes  it  worse  is,  that 
it  is  the  massacre  of  the  innocents.  That  is 
what  I  liked  best  of  what  you  said  in  that 
great  speech,  the  part  about  the  women  and 
children." 

He  reached  out  his  hands  detainingly,  and 
then  drew  back  as  though  in  apology  for 
having  already  kept  the  great  man  so  long 
waiting  in  the  cold.  "  I  wish  I  could  tell  you 
some  of  the  terrible  things  I  have  seen,"  he 
began  again,  eagerly,  as  Stanton  made  no 
movement  to  depart.  "They  are  much 
worse  than  those  you  instanced  to-night,  and 
you  could  make  so  much  better  use  of  them 
than  any  one  else.  I  have  seen  starving 
107 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

women  nursing  dead  babies,  and  sometimes 
starving  babies  sucking  their  dead  mother's 
breasts  ;  I  have  seen  men  cut  down  in  the 
open  roads  and  while  digging  in  the  fields  — 
and  two  hundred  women  imprisoned  in  one 
room  without  food  and  eaten  with  small-pox, 
and  huts  burned  while  the  people  in  them 
slept  —  " 

The  young  man  had  been  speaking  impet 
uously,  but  he  stopped  as  suddenly,  for  the 
senator  was  not  listening  to  him.  He  had  low 
ered  his  eyes  and  was  looking  with  a  glance 
of  mingled  fascination  and  disgust  at  Ark- 
wright's  hands.  In  his  earnestness  the  young 
man  had  stretched  them  out,  and  as  they 
showed  behind  the  line  of  his  ragged  sleeves 
the  others  could  see,  even  in  the  blurred  light 
and  falling  snow,  that  the  wrists  of  each  hand 
were  gashed  and  cut  in  dark-brown  lines  like 
the  skin  of  a  mulatto,  and  in  places  were  a 
raw  red,  where  the  fresh  skin  had  but  just 
closed  over.  The  young  man  paused  and 
stood  shivering,  still  holding  his  hands  out 
rigidly  before  him. 

The  senator  raised  his  eyes  slowly  and  drew 
away. 

108 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"What  is  that?"  he  said  in  a  low  voice, 
pointing  with  a  gloved  finger  at  the  black 
lines  on  the  wrists. 

A  sergeant  in  the  group  of  policemen  who 
had  closed  around  the  speakers  answered  him 
promptly  from  his  profound  fund  of  profes 
sional  knowledge. 

"  That 's  handcuffs,  senator,"  he  said  im 
portantly,  and  glanced  at  Stanton  as  though 
to  signify  that  at  a  word  from  him  he  would 
take  this  suspicious  character  into  custody. 
The  young  man  pulled  the  frayed  cuffs  of  his 
shirt  over  his  wrists  and  tucked  his  hands, 
which  the  cold  had  frozen  into  an  ashy  blue, 
under  his  armpits  to  warm  them. 

"No,  they  don't  use  handcuffs  in  the  field," 
he  said  in  the  same  low,  eager  tone ;  "  they 
use  ropes  and  leather  thongs ;  they  fastened 
me  behind  a  horse  and  when  he  stumbled 
going  down  the  trail  it  jerked  me  forward  and 
the  cords  would  tighten  and  tear  the  flesh. 
But  they  have  had  a  long  time  to  heal  now. 
I  have  been  eight  months  in  prison." 

The  young  men  at  the  carriage  window 
had  ceased  smiling  and  were  listening  intently. 
One  of  them  stepped  out  and  stood-  beside 
109 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

the  carriage  door  looking  down  at  the  shiver 
ing  figure  before  him  with  a  close  and  curious 
scrutiny. 

"  Eight  months  in  prison ! "  echoed  the 
police  sergeant  with  a  note  of  triumph; 
"what  did  I  tell  you?" 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  said  the  young  man 
at  the  carriage  door.  There  was  silence  for 
a  moment,  while  the  men  looked  at  the 
senator,  as  though  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"Where  were  you  in  prison,  Mr.  Ark- 
wright?  "  he  asked. 

"  First  in  the  calaboose  at  Santa  Clara  for 
two  months,  and  then  in  Cabanas.  The 
Cubans  who  were  taken  when  I  was,  were 
shot  by  the  fusillade  on  different  days  during 
this  last  month.  Two  of  them,  the  Ezetas, 
were  father  and  son,  and  the  Volunteer  band 
played  all  the  time  the  execution  was  going 
on,  so  that  the  other  prisoners  might  not 
hear  them  cry  '  Cuba  Libre '  when  the  order 
came  to  fire.  But  we  heard  them." 

The  senator  shivered  slightly  and    pulled 

his    fur   collar   up    farther   around   his    face. 

"  I  'd  like  to  talk  with  you,"  he  said,  "  if  you 

have  nothing  to  do  to-morrow.     I  'd  like  to 

no 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

go  into  this  thing  thoroughly.  Congress 
must  be  made  to  take  some  action." 

The  young  man  clasped  his  hands  eagerly. 
"Ah,  Mr.  Stanton,  if  you  would,"  he  cried, 
"  if  you  would  only  give  me  an  hour !  I 
could  tell  you  so  much  that  you  could  use. 
And  you  can  believe  what  I  say,  sir  —  it  is 
not  necessary  to  lie  —  God  knows  the  truth 
is  bad  enough.  I  can  give  you  names  and 
dates  for  everything  I  say.  Or  I  can  do 
better  than  that,  sir.  I  can  take  you  there 
yourself — in  three  months  I  can  show  you 
all  you  need  to  see,  without  danger  to  you  in 
any  way.  And  they  would  not  know  me, 
now  that  I  have  grown  a  beard,  and  I  am  a 
skeleton  to  what  I  was.  I  can  speak  the  lan 
guage  well,  and  I  know  just  what  you  should 
see,  and  then  you  could  come  back  as  one 
speaking  with  authority  and  not  have  to  say, 
'  I  have  read/  or  '  have  been  told,'  but  you 
can  say,  '  These  are  the  things  I  have  seen ' 
—  and  you  could  free  Cuba." 

The  senator  coughed  and  put  the  question 

aside  for  the  moment  with  a  wave  of  the  hand 

that  held  his  cigar.     "  We  will  talk  of  that 

to-morrow  also.     Come  to  lunch  with  me  at 

in 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

one.  My  apartments  are  in  the  Berkeley  on 
Fifth  Avenue.  But  are  n't  you  afraid  to  go 
back  there?"  he  asked  curiously.  "  I  should 
think  you  'd  had  enough  of  it.  And  you  Ve 
got  a  touch  of  fever,  haven't  you?"  He 
leaned  forward  and  peered  into  the  other's 
eyes. 

"  It  is  only  the  prison  fever,"  the  young 
man  answered ;  "  food  and  this  cold  will  drive 
that  out  of  me.  And  I  must  go  back.  There 
is  so  much  to  do  there,"  he  added.  "  Ah, 
if  I  could  tell  them,  as  you  can  tell  them, 
what  I  feel  here."  He  struck  his  chest 
sharply  with  his  hand,  and  on  the  instant  fell 
into  a  fit  of  coughing  so  violent  that  the 
young  man  at  the  carriage  door  caught  him 
around  the  waist,  and  one  of  the  policemen 
supported  him  from  the  other  side. 

"  You  need  a  doctor,"  said  the  senator 
kindly.  "  I  '11  ask  mine  to  have  a  look  at 
you.  Don't  forget,  then,  at  one  o'clock  to 
morrow.  We  will  go  into  this  thing  thor 
oughly."  He  shook  Arkwright  warmly  by 
the  hand  and  stooping  stepped  into  the 
carriage.  The  young  man  who  had  stood  at 
the  door  followed  him  and  crowded  back 

112 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

luxuriously  against  the  cushions.  The  foot 
man  swung  himself  up  beside  the  driver,  and 
said  "  Uptown  Delmonico's,"  as  he  wrapped 
the  fur  rug  around  his  legs,  and  with  a  salute 
from  the  policemen  and  a  scraping  of  hoofs 
on  the  slippery  asphalt  the  great  man  was 
gone. 

"  That  poor  fellow  needs  a  doctor,"  he  said 
as  the  carriage  rolled  up  the  avenue,  "  and 
he  needs  an  overcoat,  and  he  needs  food. 
He  needs  about  almost  everything,  by  the 
looks  of  him." 

But  the  voice  of  the  young  man  in  the 
corner  of  the  carriage  objected  drowsily  — 

"  On  the  contrary,"  he  said,  "  it  seemed  to 
me  that  he  had  the  one  thing  needful.'1 

By  one  o'clock  of  the  day  following,  Sen 
ator  Stanton,  having  read  the  reports  of  his 
speech  in  the  morning  papers,  punctuated 
with  "  Cheers,"  "  Tremendous  enthusiasm  " 
and  more  "  Cheers,"  was  still  in  a  willing 
frame  of  mind  toward  Cuba  and  her  self- 
appointed  envoy,  young  Mr.  Arkwright. 

Over  night  he  had  had  doubts  but  that  the 
young  man's  enthusiasm  would  bore  him  on 
the  morrow,  but  Mr.  Arkwright,  when  he 
8  113 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

appeared,  developed,  on  the  contrary,  a  prac 
tical  turn  of  mind  which  rendered  his  sugges 
tions  both  flattering  and  feasible.  He  was 
still  terribly  in  earnest,  but  he  was  clever 
enough  or  serious  enough  to  see  that  the 
motives  which  appealed  to  him  might  not 
have  sufficient  force  to  move  a  successful 
statesman  into  action.  So  he  placed  before 
the  senator  only  those  arguments  and  reasons 
which  he  guessed  were  the  best  adapted  to 
secure  his  interest  and  his  help.  His  pro 
posal  as  he  set  it  forth  was  simplicity  itself. 

"  Here  is  a  map  of  the  island,"  he  said ; 
"  on  it  I  have  marked  the  places  you  can 
visit  in  safety,  and  where  you  will  meet  the 
people  you  ought  to  see.  If  you  leave  New 
York  at  midnight  you  can  reach  Tampa  on 
the  second  day.  From  Tampa  we  cross  in 
another  day  to  Havana.  There  you  can 
visit  the  Americans  imprisoned  in  Morro  and 
Cabanas,  and  in  the  streets  you  can  see  the 
starving  pacificos.  From  Havana  I  shall 
take  you  by  rail  to  Jucaro,  Matanzas,  Santa 
Clara  and  Cienfuegos.  You  will  not  be  able 
to  see  the  insurgents  in  the  fields  —  it  is  not 
necessary  that  you  should  —  but  you  can 
114 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

visit  one  of  the  sugar  plantations  and  some 
of  the  insurgent  chiefs  will  run  the  forts  by 
night  and  come  in  to  talk  with  you.  I  will 
show  you  burning  fields  and  houses,  and 
starving  men  and  women  by  the  thousands, 
and  men  and  women  dying  of  fevers.  You 
can  see  Cuban  prisoners  shot  by  a  firing 
squad  and  you  can  note  how  these  rebels 
meet  death.  You  can  see  all  this  in  three 
weeks  and  be  back  in  New  York  in  a  month, 
as  any  one  can  see  it  who  wishes  to  learn 
the  truth.  Why,  English  members  of  Parlia 
ment  go  all  the  way  to  India  and  British 
Columbia  to  inform  themselves  about  those 
countries,  they  travel  thousands  of  miles,  but 
only  one  member  of  either  of  our  houses  of 
Congress  has  taken  the  trouble  to  cross  these 
eighty  miles  of  water  that  lie  between  us  and 
Cuba.  You  can  either  go  quietly  and  incog 
nito,  as  it  were,  or  you  can  advertise  the  fact 
of  your  going,  which  would  be  better.  And 
from  the  moment  you  start  the  interest  in 
your  visit  will  grow  and  increase  until  there 
will  be  no  topic  discussed  in  any  of  our 
papers  except  yourself,  and  what  you  are 
doing  and  what  you  mean  to  do. 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"  By  the  time  you  return  the  people  will 
be  waiting,  ready  and  eager  to  hear  whatever 
you  may  have  to  say.  Your  word  will  be 
the  last  word  for  them.  It  is  not  as  though 
you  were  some  demagogue  seeking  notoriety, 
or  a  hotel  piazza  correspondent  at  Key  West 
or  Jacksonville.  You  are  the  only  statesman 
we  have,  the  only  orator  Americans  will  listen 
to,  and  I  tell  you  that  when  you  come  before 
them  and  bring  home  to  them  as  only  you 
can  the  horrors  of  this  war,  you  will  be  the 
only  man  in  this  country.  You  will  be  the 
Patrick  Henry  of  Cuba ;  you  can  go  down  to 
history  as  the  man  who  added  the  most  beau 
tiful  island  in  the  seas  to  the  territory  of  the 
United  States,  who  saved  thousands  of  inno 
cent  children  and  women,  and  who  dared  to 
do  what  no  other  politician  has  dared  to  do 
• — to  go  and  see  for  himself  and  to  come 
back  and  speak  the  truth.  It  only  means 
a  month  out  of  your  life,  a  month's  trouble 
and  discomfort,  but  with  no  risk.  What  is 
a  month  out  of  a  lifetime,  when  that  month 
means  immortality  to  you  and  life  to  thou 
sands?  In  a  month  you  would  make  a  half 
dozen  after-dinner  speeches  and  cause  your 
116 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

friends  to  laugh  and  applaud.  Why  not 
wring  their  hearts  instead,  and  hold  this  thing 
up  before  them  as  it  is,  and  shake  it  in  their 
faces?  Show  it  to  them  in  all  its  horror  — 
bleeding,  diseased  and  naked,  an  offence  to 
our  humanity,  and  to  our  prated  love  of 
liberty,  and  to  our  God." 

The  young  man  threw  himself  eagerly 
forward  and  beat  the  map  with  his  open 
palm.  But  the  senator  sat  apparently  un 
moved  gazing  thoughtfully  into  the  open  fire, 
and  shook  his  head. 

While  the  luncheon  was  in  progress  the 
young  gentleman  who  the  night  before  had 
left  the  carriage  and  stood  at  Arkwright's 
side,  had  entered  the  room  and  was  listening 
intently.  He  had  invited  himself  to  some 
fresh  coffee,  and  had  then  relapsed  into  an 
attentive  silence,  following  what  the  others 
said  with  an  amused  and  interested  coun 
tenance.  Stanton  had  introduced  him  as 
Mr.  Livingstone,  and  appeared  to  take  it 
for  granted  that  Arkwright  would  know  who 
he  was.  He  seemed  to  regard  him  with  a 
certain  deference  which  Arkwright  judged 
was  due  to  some  fixed  position  the  young 
117 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

man  held,  either  of  social  or  of  political 
value. 

"  I  do  not  know,"  said  Stanton  with  con 
sideration,  "  that  I  am  prepared  to  advocate 
the  annexation  of  the  island.  It  is  a  serious 
problem." 

"  I  am  not  urging  that,"  Arkwright  inter 
rupted  anxiously;  "  the  Cubans  themselves 
do  not  agree  as  to  that,  and  in  any  event  it 
is  an  afterthought  Our  object  now  should 
be  to  prevent  further  bloodshed.  If  you  see 
a  man  beating  a  boy  to  death,  you  first  save 
the  boy's  life  and  decide  afterward  where  he 
is  to  go  to  school.  If  there  were  any  one  else, 
senator,"  Arkwright  continued  earnestly,  "  I 
would  not  trouble  you.  But  we  all  know 
your  strength  in  this  country.  You  are  in 
dependent  and  fearless,  and  men  of  both 
parties  listen  to  you.  Surely,  God  has  given 
you  this  great  gift  of  oratory,  if  you  will  for 
give  my  speaking  so,  to  use  only  in  a  great 
cause.  A  grand  organ  in  a  cathedral  is 
placed  there  to  lift  men's  thoughts  to  high 
resolves  and  purposes,  not  to  make  people 
dance.  A  street  organ  can  do  that.  Now, 
here  is  a  cause  worthy  of  your  great  talents, 
1x8 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

worthy  of  a  Daniel  Webster,  of  a  Henry 
Clay." 

The  senator  frowned  at  the  fire  and  shook 
his  head  doubtfully. 

"  If  they  knew  what  I  was  down  there  for," 
he  asked,  "  would  n't  they  put  me  in  prison 
too?" 

Arkwright  laughed  incredulously. 

"  Certainly  not,"  he  said  ;  "  you  would  go 
there  as  a  private  citizen,  as  a  tourist  to  look 
on  and  observe.  Spain  is  not  seeking  com 
plications  of  that  sort.  She  has  troubles 
enough  without  imprisoning  United  States 
senators." 

"  Yes ;  but  these  fevers  now,"  persisted 
Stanton,  "  they  're  no  respecter  of  persons, 
I  imagine.  A  United  States  senator  is  not 
above  smallpox  or  cholera." 

Arkwright  shook  his  head  impatiently  and 
sighed. 

"  It  is  difficult  to  make  it  clear  to  one  who 
has  not  been  there,"  he  said.  "  These  peo 
ple  and  soldiers  are  dying  of  fever  because 
they  are  forced  to  live  like  pigs,  and  they 
are  already  sick  with  starvation.  A  healthy 
man  like  yourself  would  be  in  no  more 
119 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

danger  than  you  would  be  in  walking  through 
the  wards  of  a  New  York  hospital." 

Senator  Stanton  turned  in  his  armchair, 
and  held  up  his  hand  impressively. 

"  If  I  were  to  tell  them  the  things  you  have 
told  me,"  he  said  warningly,  "  if  I  were  to  say 
I  have  seen  such  things  —  American  property 
in  flames,  American  interests  ruined,  and  that 
five  times  as  many  women  and  children  have 
died  of  fever  and  starvation  in  three  months 
in  Cuba  as  the  Sultan  has  massacred  in  Ar 
menia  in  three  years  —  it  would  mean  war 
with  Spain." 

"Well?"  said  Arkwright. 

Stanton  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sank 
back  again  in  his  chair. 

"  It  would  either  mean  war,"  Arkwright 
went  on,  "or  it  might  mean  the  sending  of 
the  Red  Cross  army  to  Cuba.  It  went  to 
Constantinople,  five  thousand  miles  away,  to 
help  the  Armenian  Christians — why  has 
it  waited  three  years  to  go  eighty  miles  to 
feed  and  clothe  the  Cuban  women  and  chil 
dren?  It  is  like  sending  help  to  a  hungry 
peasant  in  Russia  while  a  man  dies  on  your 
doorstep." 

120 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"Well,"  said  the  senator,  rising,  "I  will 
let  you  know  to-morrow.  If  it  is  the  right 
thing  to  do,  and  if  I  can  do  it,  of  course  it 
must  be  done.  We  start  from  Tampa,  you 
say?  I  know  the  presidents  of  all  of  those 
roads  and  they  '11  probably  give  me  a  private 
car  for  the  trip  down.  Shall  we  take  any 
newspaper  men  with  us,  or  shall  I  wait  until 
I  get  back  and  be  interviewed?  What  do 
you  think?" 

"  I  would  wait  until  my  return,"  Arkwright 
answered,  his  eyes  glowing  with  the  hope 
the  senator's  words  had  inspired,  "  and  then 
speak  to  a  mass-meeting  here  and  in  Boston 
and  in  Chicago.  Three  speeches  will  be 
enough.  Before  you  have  finished  your  last 
one  the  American  warships  will  be  in  the 
harbor  of  Havana." 

"  Ah,  youth,  youth !  "  said  the  senator, 
smiling  gravely,  "  it  is  no  light  responsibility 
to  urge  a  country  into  war." 

"  It  is  no  light  responsibility,"  Arkwright 
answered,  "  to  know  you  have  the  chance  to 
save  the  lives  of  thousands  of  little  children 
and  helpless  women  and  to  let  the  chance 
pass." 

121 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"  Quite  so,  that  is  quite  true,"  said  the 
senator.  "  Well,  good-morning.  I  shall  let 
you  know  to-morrow." 

Young  Livingstone  went  down  in  the 
elevator  with  Arkwright,  and  when  they  had 
reached  the  sidewalk  stood  regarding  him  for 
a  moment  in  silence. 

"  You  must  n't  count  too  much  on  Stanton, 
you  know,"  he  said  kindly;  "he  has  a  way 
of  disappointing  people." 

"Ah,  he  can  never  disappoint  me/'  Ark 
wright  answered  confidently,  "  no  matter  how 
much  I  expected.  Besides,  I  have  already 
heard  him  speak." 

"  I  don't  mean  that,  I  don't  mean  he  is 
disappointing  as  a  speaker.  Stanton  is  a 
great  orator,  I  think.  Most  of  those  South 
erners  are,  and  he  's  the  only  real  orator  I 
ever  heard.  But  what  I  mean  is,  that  he 
does  n't  go  into  things  impulsively ;  he  first 
considers  himself,  and  then  he  considers  every 
other  side  of  the  question  before  he  commits 
himself  to  it.  Before  he  launches  out  on  a 
popular  wave  he  tries  to  find  out  where  it  is 
going  to  land  him.  He  likes  the  sort  of  pop 
ular  wave  that  carries  him  along  with  it  where 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

every  one  can  see  him ;  he  doesn  't  fancy 
being  hurled  up  on  the  beach  with  his  mouth 
full  of  sand." 

"  You  are  saying  that  he  is  selfish,  self- 
seeking?  "  Arkwright  demanded  with  a  chal 
lenge  in  his  voice.  "  I  thought  you  were  his 
friend." 

"  Yes,  he  is  selfish,  and  yes,  I  am  his 
friend,"  the  young  man  answered,  smiling; 
"  at  least,  he  seems  willing  to  be  mine.  I  am 
saying  nothing  against  him  that  I  have  not 
said  to  him.  If  you  '11  come  back  with  me  up 
the  elevator  I  '11  tell  him  he 's  a  self-seeker 
and  selfish,  and  with  no  thought  above  his 
own  interests.  He  won't  mind.  He  'd  say  I 
cannot  comprehend  his  motives.  Why, 
you  Ve  only  to  look  at  his  record.  When  the 
Venezuelan  message  came  out  he  attacked 
the  President  and  declared  he  was  trying  to 
make  political  capital  and  to  drag  us  into 
war,  and  that  what  we  wanted  was  arbitration ; 
but  when  the  President  brought  out  the  Arbi 
tration  Treaty  he  attacked  that  too  in  the 
Senate  and  destroyed  it.  Why?  Not  be 
cause  he  had  convictions,  but  because  the 
President  had  refused  a  foreign  appointment 
"3 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

to  a  friend  of  his  in  the  South.  He  has  been 
a  free  silver  man  for  the  last  ten  years,  he 
comes  from  a  free  silver  state,  and  the  mem 
bers  of  the  legislature  that  elected  him  were 
all  for  silver,  but  this  last  election  his  Wall 
Street  friends  got  hold  of  him  and  worked  on 
his  feelings,  and  he  repudiated  his  party,  his 
state,  and  his  constituents  and  came  out  for 
gold." 

"Well,  but  surely,"  Arkwright  objected, 
"that  took  courage?  To  own  that  for  ten 
years  you  had  been  wrong,  and  to  come  out 
for  the  right  at  the  last." 

Livingstone  stared  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  "  It 's  all  a  question  of  motives," 
he  said  indifferently.  "  I  don't  want  to  shat 
ter  your  idol ;  I  only  want  to  save  you  from 
counting  too  much  on  him." 

When  Arkwright  called  on  the  morrow 
Senator  Stantonwas  not  at  home,  and  the  day 
following  he  was  busy,  and  could  give  him  only 
a  brief  interview.  There  were  previous  en 
gagements  and  other  difficulties  in  the  way  of 
his  going  which  he  had  not  foreseen,  he  said, 
and  he  feared  he  should  have  to  postpone  his 
visit  to  Cuba  indefinitely.  He  asked  if  Mr. 
124 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

Arkwright  would  be  so  kind  as  to  call  again 
within  a  week ;  he  would  then  be  better  able 
to  give  him  a  definite  answer. 

Arkwright  left  the  apartment  with  a  sensa 
tion  of  such  keen  disappointment  that  it 
turned  him  ill  and  dizzy.  He  felt  that  the 
great  purpose  of  his  life  was  being  played 
with  and  put  aside.  But  he  had  not  selfish 
resentment  on  his  own  account ;  he  was  only 
the  more  determined  to  persevere.  He  con 
sidered  new  arguments  and  framed  new  ap 
peals  ;  and  one  moment  blamed  himself 
bitterly  for  having  foolishly  discouraged  the 
statesman  by  too  vivid  pictures  of  the  horrors 
he  might  encounter,  and  the  next,  questioned 
if  he  had  not  been  too  practical  and  so  failed 
because  he  had  not  made  the  terrible  need  of 
immediate  help  his  sole  argument.  Every 
hour  wasted  in  delay  meant,  as  he  knew,  the 
sacrifice  of  many  lives,  and  there  were  other, 
more  sordid  and  more  practical,  reasons  for 
speedy  action.  For  his  supply  of  money  was 
running  low  and  there  was  now  barely  enough 
remaining  to  carry  him  through  the  month  of 
travel  he  had  planned  to  take  at  Stanton's 
side.  What  would  happen  to  him  when  that 
125 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

momentous  trip  was  over  was  of  no  conse 
quence.  He  would  have  done  the  work  as 
far  as  his  small  share  in  it  lay,  he  would  have 
set  in  motion  a  great  power  that  was  to  move 
Congress  and  the  people  of  the  United  States 
to  action.  If  he  could  but  do  that,  what 
became  of  him  counted  for  nothing. 

But  at  the  end  of  the  week  his  fears  and 
misgivings  were  scattered  gloriously  and  a 
single  line  from  the  senator  set  his  heart 
leaping  and  brought  him  to  his  knees  in  grati 
tude  and  thanksgiving.  On  returning  one 
afternoon  to  the  mean  lodging  into  which  he 
had  moved  to  save  his  money,  he  found  a 
telegram  from  Stanton  and  he  tore  it  open 
trembling  between  hope  and  fear. 

"  Have  arranged  to  leave  for  Tampa  with 
you  Monday,  at  midnight "  it  read.  "  Call  for 
me  at  ten  o'clock  same  evening.  —  STANTON." 

Arkwright  read  the  message  three  times. 
There  was  a  heavy,  suffocating  pressure  at 
his  heart  as  though  it  had  ceased  beating. 
He  sank  back  limply  upon  the  edge  of  his 
bed  and  clutching  the  piece  of  paper  in  his 
two  hands  spoke  the  words  aloud  triumph 
antly  as  though  to  assure  himself  that  they 
126 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

were  true.  Then  a  flood  of  unspeakable 
relief,  of  happiness  and  gratitude,  swept  over 
him,  and  he  turned  and  slipped  to  the  floor, 
burying  his  face  in  the  pillow,  and  wept  out 
his  thanks  upon  his  knees. 

A  man  so  deeply  immersed  in  public 
affairs  as  was  Stanton  and  with  such  a  multi 
plicity  of  personal  interests,  could  not  pre 
pare  to  absent  himself  for  a  month  without 
his  intention  becoming  known,  and  on  the 
day  when  he  was  to  start  for  Tampa  the 
morning  newspapers  proclaimed  the  fact  that 
he  was  about  to  visit  Cuba.  They  gave  to 
his  mission  all  the  importance  and  display 
that  Arkwright  had  foretold.  Some  of  the 
newspapers  stated  that  he  was  going  as  a 
special  commissioner  of  the  President  to 
study  and  report ;  others  that  he  was  acting 
in  behalf  of  the  Cuban  legation  in  Washing- 
ton  and  had  plenipotentiary  powers.  Oppo 
sition  organs  suggested  that  he  was  acting 
in  the  interests  of  the  sugar  trust,  and  his 
own  -particular  organ  declared  that  it  was 
his  intention  to  free  Cuba  at  the  risk  of  his 
own  freedom,  safety,  and  even  life. 

The  Spanish  minister  in  Washington  sent 
127 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

a  cable  for  publication  to  Madrid,  stating  that 
a  distinguished  American  statesman  was 
about  to  visit  Cuba,  to  investigate,  and,  later, 
to  deny  the  truth  of  the  disgraceful  libels 
published  concerning  the  Spanish  officials 
on  the  island  by  the  papers  of  the  United 
States.  At  the  same  time  he  cabled  in 
cipher  to  the  captain-general  in  Havana  to 
see  that  the  distinguished  statesman  was 
closely  spied  upon  from  the  moment  of  his 
arrival  until  his  departure,  and  to  place  on 
the  "  suspect "  list  all  Americans  and  Cubans 
who  ventured  to  give  him  any  information. 

The  afternoon  papers  enlarged  on  the  im 
portance  of  the  visit  and  on  the  good  that 
would  surely  come  of  it.  They  told  that 
Senator  Stanton  had  refused  to  be  interviewed 
or  to  disclose  the  object  of  his  journey.  But 
it  wao  enough,  they  said,  that  some  one  in  au 
thority  was  at  last  to  seek  out  the  truth,  and 
added  that  no  one  would  be  listened  to  with 
:  r.ater  respect  than  would  the  Southern 
senator.  On  this  all  the  editorial  writers 
were  agreed.  The  day  passed  drearily  for 
Arkwright.  Early  in  the  morning  he  packed 
his  valise  and  paid  his  landlord,  and  for  the 
128 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

remainder  of  the  day  walked  the  streets  or 
sat  in  the  hotel  corridor  waiting  irnp-tiently 
for  each  fresh  edition  of  the  papers,  In  them 
he  read  the  signs  of  the  great  upheaval  of 
popular  feeling  that  was  to  restore  peace  and 
health  and  plenty  to  the  island  for  which  he 
had  given  his  last  three  years  of  energy  and 
life. 

He  was  trembling  with  excitement,  as  well 
as  with  the  cold,  when  at  ten  o'clock  pre 
cisely  he  stood  at  Senator  Stanton's  door. 
He  had  forgotten  to  eat  his  dinner,  and  the 
warmth  of  the  dimly  lit  hall  and  the  odor  of 
rich  food  which  was  wafted  from  an  inner 
room  touched  his  senses  with  tantalizing 
comfort. 

"  The  senator  says  you  are  to  come  this 
way,  sir,"  the  servant  directed.  He  took 
Arkwright's  valise  from  his  hand  and  parted 
the  heavy  curtains  that  hid  the  dining-room, 
and  Arkwright  stepped  in  between  them  and 
then  stopped  in  some  embarrassment.  He 
found  himself  in  the  presence  of  a  number 
of  gentlemen  seated  at  a  long  dinner-table, 
who  turned  their  heads  as  he  entered  and 
peered  at  him  through  the  smoke  that  floated 
9  129 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

in  light  layers  above  the  white  cloth.  The 
dinner  had  been  served,  but  the  senator's 
guests  still  sat  with  their  chairs  pushed  back 
from  a  table  lighted  by  candles  under  yellow 
shades,  and  covered  with  beautiful  flowers 
and  with  bottles  of  varied  sizes  in  stands  of 
quaint  and  intricate  design.  Senator  Stan- 
ton's  tall  figure  showed  dimly  through  the 
smoke,  and  his  deep  voice  hailed  Arkwright 
cheerily  from  the  farther  end  of  the  room. 
"This  way,  Mr.  Arkwright,"  he  said.  "I 
have  a  chair  waiting  for  you  here."  He 
grasped  Arkwright's  hand  warmly  and  pulled 
him  into  the  vacant  place  at  his  side.  An 
elderly  gentleman  on  Arkwright's  other  side 
moved  to  make  more  room  for  him  and 
shoved  a  liqueur  glass  toward  him  with  a 
friendly  nod  and  pointed  at  an  open  box  of 
cigars.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  and 
Arkwright  noticed  that  he  was  regarding 
him  with  a  glance  of  the  keenest  interest. 
All  of  those  at  the  table  were  men  of  twice 
Arkwright's  age,  except  Livingstone,  whom 
he  recognized  and  who  nodded  to  him  pleas 
antly  and  at  the  same  time  gave  an  order 
to  a  servant,  pointing  at  Arkwright  as  he  did 
130 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

so.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  wore  their  busi 
ness  suits,  and  one  opposite  Arkwright  was 
still  in  his  overcoat,  and  held  his  hat  in  his 
hand.  These  latter  seemed  to  have  arrived 
after  the  dinner  had  begun,  for  they  formed 
a  second  line  back  of  those  who  had  places 
at  the  table;  they  all  seemed  to  know  one 
another  and  were  talking  with  much  vivacity 
and  interest. 

Stanton  did  not  attempt  to  introduce  Ark 
wright  to  his  guests  individually,  but  said: 
"  Gentlemen,  this  is  Mr.  Arkwright,  of  whom 
I  have  been  telling  you,  the  young  gentleman 
who  has  done  such  magnificent  work  for  the 
cause  of  Cuba."  Those  who  caught  Ark- 
wright's  eye  nodded  to  him,  and  others  raised 
their  glasses  at  him,  but  with  a  smile  that  he 
could  not  understand.  It  was  as  though 
they  all  knew  something  concerning  him  of 
which  he  was  ignorant.  He  noted  that  the 
faces  of  some  were  strangely  familiar,  and  he 
decided  that  he  must  have  seen  their  por 
traits  in  the  public  prints.  After  he  had  in 
troduced  Arkwright,  the  senator  drew  his 
chair  slightly  away  from  him  and  turned  in 
what  seemed  embarrassment  to  the  man  on 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

his  other  side.  The  elderly  gentleman  next 
to  Arkwright  filled  his  glass,  a  servant  placed 
a  small  cup  of  coffee  at  his  elbow,  and  he  lit 
a  cigar  and  looked  about  him. 

"You  must  find  this  weather  very  trying 
after  the  tropics,"  his  neighbor  said. 

Arkwright  assented  cordially.  The  brandy 
was  flowing  through  his  veins  and  warming 
him ;  he  forgot  that  he  was  hungry,  and  the 
kind,  interested  glances  of  those  about  him 
set  him  at  his  ease.  It  was  a  propitious 
start,  he  thought,  a  pleasant  leave-taking  for 
the  senator  and  himself,  full  of  good  will 
and  good  wishes. 

He  turned  toward  Stanton  and  waited  until 
he  had  ceased  speaking. 

"  The  papers  have  begun  well,  have  n't 
they?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

He  had  spoken  in  a  low  voice,  almost  in 
a  whisper,  but  those  about  the  table  seemed 
to  have  heard  him,  for  there  was  silence  in 
stantly  and  when  he  glanced  up  he  saw  the 
eyes  of  all  turned  upon  him  and  he  noticed 
on  their  faces  the  same  smile  he  had  seen 
there  when  he  entered. 

"Yes,"  Stanton  answered  constrainedly. 
132 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"  Yes,  I  — "  he  lowered  his  voice,  but  the 
silence  still  continued.  Stanton  had  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  table,  but  now  he  frowned  and 
half  rose  from  his  chair. 

"  I  want  to  speak  with  you,  Arkwright," 
he  said.  "  Suppose  we  go  into  the  next 
room.  I  '11  be  back  in  a  moment,"  he  added, 
nodding  to  the  others. 

But  the  man  on  his  right  removed  his 
cigar  from  his  lips  and  said  in  an  undertone, 
"  No,  sit  down,  stay  where  you  are ;  "  and 
the  elderly  gentleman  at  Arkwright's  side 
laid  his  hand  detainingly  on  his  arm.  "  Oh, 
you  won't  take  Mr.  Arkwright  away  from  us, 
Stanton?  "  he  asked,  smiling. 

Stanton  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sat 
down  again,  and  there  was  a  moment's  pause. 
It  was  broken  by  the  man  in  the  overcoat, 
who  laughed. 

"  He  's  paying  you  a  compliment,  Mr.  Ark 
wright,"  he  said.  He  pointed  with  his  cigar 
to  the  gentleman  at  Arkwright's  side. 

"•I  don't  understand,"  Arkwright  answered 
doubtfully. 

"  It 's  a  compliment  to  your  eloquence  — 
he 's  afraid  to  leave  you  alone  with  the 
133 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

senator.  Livingstone  's  been  telling  us  that 
you  are  a  better  talker  than  Stanton."  Ark- 
wright  turned  a  troubled  countenance  toward 
the  men  about  the  table,  and  then  toward 
Livingstone,  but  that  young  man  had  his  eyes 
fixed  gravely  on  the  glasses  before  him  and 
did  not  raise  them. 

Arkwright  felt  a  sudden,  unreasonable  fear 
of  the  circle  of  strong-featured,  serene  and 
confident  men  about  him.  They  seemed  to 
be  making  him  the  subject  of  a  jest,  to  be  en 
joying  something  among  themselves  of  which 
he  was  in  ignorance,  but  which  concerned 
him  closely.  He  turned  a  white  face  toward 
Stanton. 

"  You  don't  mean,"  he  began  piteously, 
"that  —  that  you  are  not  going?  Is  that  it 
—  tell  me  —  is  that  what  you  wanted  to  say?  " 

Stanton  shifted  in  his  chair  and  muttered 
some  words  between  his  lips,  then  turned 
toward  Arkwright  and  spoke  quite  clearly 
and  distinctly. 

"  I    am   very   sorry,    Mr.    Arkwright,"    he 

said,  "  but  I  am  afraid  I  '11  have  to  disappoint 

you.     Reasons    I    cannot   now   explain  have 

arisen  which  make  my  going   impossible  — 

134 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

quite  impossible,"  he  added  firmly  —  "  not 
only  now,  but  later,"  he  went  on  quickly,  as 
Arkwright  was  about  to  interrupt  him. 

Arkwright  made  no  second  attempt  to 
speak.  He  felt  the  muscles  of  his  face  work 
ing  and  the  tears  coming  to  his  eyes,  and  to 
hide  his  weakness  he  twisted  in  his  chair  and 
sat  staring  ahead  of  him  with  his  back  turned 
to  the  table.  He  heard  Livingstone's  voice 
break  the  silence  with  some  hurried  question, 
and  immediately  his  embarrassment  was 
hidden  in  a  murmur  of  answers  and  the  mov 
ing  of  glasses  as  the  men  shifted  in  their 
chairs  and  the  laughter  and  talk  went  on  as 
briskly  as  before.  Arkwright  saw  a  side 
board  before  him  and  a  servant  arranging 
some  silver  on  one  of  the  shelves.  He 
watched  the  man  do  this  with  a  concen 
trated  interest  as  though  the  dull,  numbed 
feeling  in  his  brain  caught  at  the  trifle  in 
order  to  put  off,  as  long  as  possible,  the  con 
sideration  of  the  truth. 

And  then  beyond  the  sideboard  and  the 
tapestry  on  the  wall  above  it,  he  saw  the  sun 
shining  down  upon  the  island  of  Cuba,  he 
saw  the  royal  palms  waving  and  bending, 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

the  dusty  columns  of  Spanish  infantry  crawl 
ing  along  the  white  roads  and  leaving  blazing- 
huts  and  smoking  cane-fields  in  their  wake; 
he  saw  skeletons  of  men  and  women  seeking 
for  food  among  the  refuse  of  the  street;  he 
heard  the  order  given  to  the  firing  squad,  the 
splash  of  the  bullets  as  they  scattered  the 
plaster  on  the  prison  wall,  and  he  saw  a 
kneeling  figure  pitch  forward  on  its  face, 
with  a  useless  bandage  tied  across  its  sight 
less  eyes. 

Senator  Stanton  brought  him  back  with 
a  sharp  shake  of  the  shoulder.  He  had  also 
turned  his  back  on  the  others,  and  was  lean 
ing  forward  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 
He  spoke  rapidly,  and  in  a  voice  only  slightly 
raised  above  a  whisper. 

"  I  am  more  than  sorry,  Arkwright,"  he 
said  earnestly.  "  You  must  n't  blame  me 
altogether.  I  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it 
this  afternoon.  I  wanted  to  go.  I  really 
wanted  to  go.  The  thing  appealed  to  me, 
it  touched  me,  it  seemed  as  if  I  owed  it  to 
myself  to  do  it.  But  they  were  too  many 
for  me,"  he  added  with  a  backward  toss  of 
his  head  toward  the  men  around  his  table. 
136 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"  If  the  papers  had  not  told  on  me  I  could 
have  got  well  away,"  he  went  on  in  an  eager 
tone,  "  but  as  soon  as  they  read  of  it,  they 
came  here  straight  from  their  offices.  You 
know  who  they  are,  don't  you?"  he  asked, 
and  even  in  his  earnestness  there  was  an 
added  touch  of  importance  in  his  tone  as  he 
spoke  the  name  of  his  party's  leader,  of  men 
who  stood  prominently  in  Wall  Street  and 
who  were  at  the  head  of  great  trusts. 

"  You  see  how  it  is,"  he  said  with  a  shrug 
of  his  shoulders.  "  They  have  enormous 
interests  at  stake.  They  said  I  would  drag 
them  into  war,  that  I  would  disturb  values, 
that  the  business  interests  of  the  country 
would  suffer.  I  'm  under  obligations  to  most 
of  them,  they  have  advised  me  in  financial 
matters,  and  they  threatened  —  they  threat 
ened  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  me."  His 
voice  hardened  and  he  drew  in  his  breath 
quickly,  and  laughed.  "  You  would  n't 
understand  if  I  were  to  tell  you.  It 's  rather 
involved.  And  after  all,  they  may  be  right, 
agitation  may  be  bad  for  the  country.  And 
your  party  leader  after  all  is  your  party 
leader,  is  n't  he,  and  if  he  says  *  no  '  what  are 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

you  to  do?  My  sympathies  are  just  as  keen 
for  these  poor  women  and  children  as  ever, 
but  as  these  men  say,  *  charity  begins  at 
home,'  and  we  must  n't  do  anything  to  bring 
on  war  prices  again,  or  to  send  stocks 
tumbling  about  our  heads,  must  we?"  He 
leaned  back  in  his  chair  again  and  sighed. 
"  Sympathy  is  an  expensive  luxury,  I  find," 
he  added. 

Arkwright  rose  stiffly  and  pushed  Stanton 
away  from  him  with  his  hand.  He  moved 
like  a  man  coming  out  of  a  dream. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me  like  that,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice.  The  noise  about  the  table 
ended  on  the  instant,  but  Arkwright  did  not 
notice  that  it  had  ceased.  "  You  know  I 
don't  understand  that,"  he  went  on;  "what 
does  it  matter  to  me?"  He  put  his  hand 
up  to  the  side  of  his  face  and  held  it  there, 
looking  down  at  Stanton.  He  had  the  dull, 
heavy  look  in  his  eyes  of  a  man  who  has 
just  come  through  an  operation  under  some 
heavy  drug.  "  '  Wall  Street,'  '  trusts/  '  party 
leaders,'"  he  repeated,  "what  are  they  to 
me?  The  words  don't  reach  me,  they  have 
lost  their  meaning,  it  is  a  language  I  have 

138 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

forgotten,  thank  God !  "  he  added.  He 
turned  and  moved  his  eyes  around  the  table, 
scanning  the  faces  of  the  men  before  him. 

"  Yes,  you  are  twelve  to  one,"  he  said  at 
last,  still  speaking  dully  and  in  a  low  voice, 
as  though  he  were  talking  to  himself.  "  You 
have  won  a  noble  victory,  gentlemen.  I  con 
gratulate  you.  But  I  do  not  blame  you,  we 
are  all  selfish  and  self-seeking.  I  thought  I 
was  working  only  for  Cuba,  but  I  was  work 
ing  for  myself,  just  as  you  are.  I  wanted  to 
feel  that  it  was  I  who  had  helped  to  bring 
relief  to  that  plague-spot,  that  it  was  through 
my  efforts  the  help  had  come.  Yes,  if  he 
had  done  as  I  asked,  I  suppose  I  would  have 
taken  the  credit." 

He  swayed  slightly,  and  to  steady  himself 
caught  at  the  back  of  his  chair.  But  at  the 
same  moment  his  eyes  glowed  fiercely  and 
he  held  himself  erect  again.  He  pointed  with 
his  finger  at  the  circle  of  great  men  who  sat 
looking  up  at  him  in  curious  silence. 

"  You  are  like  a  ring  of  gamblers  around 
a  gaming  table,"  he  cried  wildly,  "  who  see 
nothing  but  the  green  cloth  and  the  wheel 
and  the  piles  of  money  before  them,  who 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

forget  in  watching  the  money  rise  and  fall, 
that  outside  the  sun  is  shining,  that  human 
beings  are  sick  and  suffering,  that  men  are 
giving  their  lives  for  an  idea,  for  a  sentiment, 
for  a  flag.  You  are  the  money-changers  in 
the  temple  of  this  great  republic  and  the  day 
will  come,  I  pray  to  God,  when  you  will  be 
scourged  and  driven  out  with  whips.  Do 
you  think  you  can  form  combines  and  deals 
that  will  cheat  you  into  heaven?  Can  your 
'  trusts  '  save  your  souls  —  is  '  Wall  Street ' 
the  strait  and  narrow  road  to  salvation  ? " 

The  men  about  the  table  leaned  back  and 
stared  at  Arkwright  in  as  great  amazement 
as  though  he  had  violently  attempted  an 
assault  upon  their  pockets,  or  had  suddenly 
gone  mad  in  their  presence.  Some  of  them 
frowned,  and  others  appeared  not  to  have 
heard,  and  others  smiled  grimly  and  waited 
for  him  to  continue  as  though  they  were 
spectators  at  a  play. 

The  political  leader  broke  the  silence  with  a 
low  aside  to  Stanton.  "  Does  the  gentleman 
belong  to  the  Salvation  Army?  "  he  asked. 

Arkwright  whirled  about  and  turned  upon 
him  fiercely. 

140 


You  are  like  a  ring  of  gamblers  around  a  gaming  table. 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"  Old  gods  give  way  to  new  gods,"  he 
cried.  "  Here  is  your  brother.  I  am  speak 
ing  for  him.  Do  you  ever  think  of  him? 
How  dare  you  sneer  at  me?"  he  cried. 
"  You  can  crack  your  whip  over  that  man's 
head  and  turn  him  from  what  in  his  heart 
and  conscience  he  knows  is  right;  you  can 
crack  your  whip  over  the  men  who  call  them 
selves  free-born  American  citizens  and  who 
have  made  you  their  boss  —  sneer  at  them 
if  you  like,  but  you  have  no  collar  on  my 
neck.  If  you  are  a  leader,  why  don't  you 
lead  your  people  to  what  is  good  and  noble? 
Why  do  you  stop  this  man  in  the  work  God 
sent  him  here  to  do?  You  would  make  a 
party  hack  of  him,  a  political  prostitute,  some 
thing  lower  than  the  woman  who  walks  the 
streets.  She  sells  her  body  —  this  man  is 
selling  his  soul." 

He  turned,  trembling  and  quivering,  and 
shook  his  finger  above  the  upturned  face  of 
the  senator. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  your  talents, 
Stanton?"  he  cried.  "  What  have  you  done 
with  your  talents  ?  " 

The  man  in  the  overcoat  struck  the  table 
141 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

before  him  with  his  fist  so  that  the  glasses 
rang. 

"By  God,"  he  laughed,  "I  call  him  a 
better  speaker  than  Stanton  !  Livingstone  's 
right,  he  is  better  than  Stanton  • —  but  he 
lacks  Stanton's  knack  of  making  himself 
popular,"  he  added.  He  looked  around  the 
table  inviting  approbation  with  a  smile,  but 
no  one  noticed  him,  nor  spoke  to  break  the 
silence. 

Arkwright  heard  the  words  dully  and  felt 
that  he  was  being  mocked.  He  covered  his 
face  with  his  hands  and  stood  breathing 
brokenly;  his  body  was  still  trembling  with 
an  excitement  he  could  not  master. 

Stanton  rose  from  his  chair  and  shook 
him  by  the  shoulder.  "  Are  you  mad,  Ark 
wright?"  he  cried.  "You  have  no  right  to 
insult  my  guests  or  me.  Becalm  —  control 
yourself." 

"What  does  it  matter  what  I  say?"  Ark 
wright  went  on  desperately.  "  I  am  mad. 
Yes,  that  is  it,  I  am  mad.  They  have  won 
and  I  have  lost,  and  it  drove  me  beside  my 
self.  I  counted  on  you.  I  knew  that  no  one 
else  could  let  my  people  go.  But  I  '11  not 
142 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

trouble  you  again.  I  wish  you  good-night, 
sir,  and  good-bye.  If  I  have  been  unjust, 
you  must  forget  it." 

He  turned  sharply,  but  Stanton  placed  a 
detaining  hand  on  his  shoulder.  "  Wait,"  he 
commanded  querulously;  "where  are  you 
going ?  Will  you,  still  —  ?  " 

Arkwright  bowed  his  head.  "Yes,"  he 
answered.  "  I  have  but  just  time  now  to 
catch  our  train  —  my  train,  I  mean." 

He  looked  up  at  Stanton  and  taking  his 
hand  in  both  of  his,  drew  the  man  toward 
him.  All  the  wildness  and  intolerance  in  his 
manner  had  passed,  and  as  he  raised  his  eyes 
they  were  full  of  a  firm  resolve. 

"Come,"  he  said  simply;  "there  is  yet 
time.  Leave  these  people  behind  you.  What 
can  you  answer  when  they  ask  what  have 
you  done  with  your  talents?" 

"  Good  God,  Arkwright,"  the  senator  ex 
claimed  angrily,  pulling  his  hand  away; 
"  don't  talk  like  a  hymn-book,  and  don't 
make  another  scene.  What  you  ask  is  impos 
sible.  Tell  me  what  I  can  do  to  help  you  in 
any  other  way,  and  —  " 

"  Come,"  repeated  the  young  man  firmly. 
X43 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

"  The  world  may  judge  you  by  what  you  do 
to-night." 

Stanton  looked  at  the  boy  for  a  brief  mo 
ment  with  a  strained  and  eager  scrutiny,  and 
then  turned  away  abruptly  and  shook  his 
head  in  silence,  and  Arkwright  passed  around 
the  table  and  on  out  of  the  room. 

A  month  later,  as  the  Southern  senator 
was  passing  through  the  reading-room  of 
the  Union  Club,  Livingstone  beckoned  to 
him,  and  handing  him  an  afternoon  paper 
pointed  at  a  paragraph  in  silence.  The 
paragraph  was  dated  Sagua  la  Grande,  and 
read: 

"  The  body  of  Henry  Arkwright,  an  Amer 
ican  civil  engineer,  was  brought  into  Sagua 
to-day  by  a  Spanish  column.  It  was  found 
lying  in  a  road  three  miles  beyond  the  line  of 
forts.  Arkwright  was  surprised  by  a  guerilla 
force  while  attempting  to  make  his  way  to 
the  insurgent  camp,  and  on  resisting  was 
shot.  The  body  has  been  handed  over  to 
the  American  consul  for  interment.  It  is 
badly  mutilated." 

Stanton  lowered  the  paper  and  stood  star 
ing  out  of  the  window  at  the  falling  snow  and 
144 


The  Man  with  One  Talent 

the  cheery  lights  and  bustling  energy  of  the 
avenue. 

"Poor  fellow,"  he  said,  "  he  wanted  so 
much  to  help  them.  And  he  did  n't  accom 
plish  anything,  did  he?" 

Livingstone  stared  at  the  older  man  and 
laughed  shortly. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "  He  died. 
Some  of  us  only  live." 


10  145 


The  Vagrant 

TTIS  Excellency  Sir  Charles  Greville, 
-"  K.  C.  M.  G.,  Governor  of  the  Windless 
Islands,  stood  upon  the  veranda  of  Govern 
ment  House  surveying  the  new  day  with 
critical  and  searching  eyes.  Sir  Charles  had 
been  so  long  absolute  monarch  of  the  Wind 
less  Isles  that  he  had  assumed  unconsciously 
a  mental  attitude  of  suzerainty  over  even  the 
glittering  waters  of  the  Caribbean  Sea,  and 
the  coral  reefs  under  the  waters,  and  the  rain 
bow  skies  that  floated  above  them.  But  on 
this  particular  morning  not  even  the  critical 
eye  of  the  Governor  could  distinguish  a  single 
flaw  in  the  tropical  landscape  before  him. 

The  lawn  at  his  feet  ran  down  to  meet  the 

dazzling  waters  of  the  bay,  the  blue  waters  of 

the  bay  ran  to  meet  a  great  stretch  of  absinthe 

green,  the  green  joined  a  fairy  sky  of  pink 

146 


The  Vagrant 

and  gold  and  saffron.  Islands  of  coral  floated 
on  the  sea  of  absinthe,  and  derelict  clouds  of 
mother-of-pearl  swung  low  above  them,  start 
ing  from  nowhere  and  going  nowhere,  but 
drifting  beautifully,  like  giant  soap-bubbles 
of  light  and  color.  Where  the  lawn  touched 
the  waters  of  the  bay  the  cocoanut-palms 
reached  their  crooked  lengths  far  up  into  the 
sunshine,  and  as  the  sea-breeze  stirred  their 
fronds  they  filled  the  hot  air  with  whispers 
and  murmurs  like  the  fluttering  of  many  fans. 
Nature  smiled  boldly  upon  the  Governor, 
confident  in  her  bountiful  beauty,  as  though 
she  said,  "  Surely  you  cannot  but  be  pleased 
with  me  to-day."  And,  as  though  in  answer, 
the  critical  and  searching  glance  of  Sir 
Charles  relaxed. 

The  crunching  of  the  gravel  and  the  rattle 
of  the  sentry's  musket  at  salute  recalled  him 
to  his  high  office  and  to  the  duties  of  the 
morning.  He  waved  his  hand,  and,  as  though 
it  were  a  wand,  the  sentry  moved  again, 
making  his  way  to  the  kitchen-garden,  and 
so  around  Government  House  and  back  to 
the  lawn-tennis  court,  maintaining  in  his  soli 
tary  pilgrimage  the  dignity  of  her  Majesty's 


The  Vagrant 

representative,  as  well  as  her  Majesty's  power 
over  the  Windless  Isles. 

The  Governor  smiled  slightly,  with  the 
ease  of  mind  of  one  who  finds  all  things 
good.  Supreme  authority,  surroundings  of 
endless  beauty,  the  respectful,  even  humble, 
deference  of  his  inferiors,  and  never  even  an 
occasional  visit  from  a  superior,  had  in  four 
years  lowered  him  into  a  bed  of  ease  and  self- 
satisfaction.  He  was  cut  off  from  the  world, 
and  yet  of  it.  Each  month  there  came,  vid 
Jamaica,  the  three  weeks'  old  copy  of  The 
Weekly  Times;  he  subscribed  to  Mudie's 
Colonial  Library;  and  from  the  States  he 
had  imported  an  American  lawn-mower,  the 
mechanism  of  which  no  one  as  yet  understood. 
Within  his  own  borders  he  had  created  a 
healthy,  orderly  seaport  out  of  what  had 
been  a  sink  of  fever  and  a  refuge  for  all  the 
ne'er-do-wells  and  fugitive  revolutionists  of 
Central  America. 

He  knew,  as  he  sat  each  evening  on  his 
veranda,  looking  across  the  bay,  that  in  the 
world  beyond  the  pink  and  gold  sunset  men 
were  still  panting,  struggling,  and  starving; 
crises  were  rising  and  passing;  strikes  and 
148 


The  Vagrant 

panics,  wars  and  the  rumors  of  wars,  swept 
from  continent  to  continent;  a  plague  crept 
through  India;  a  filibuster  with  five  hundred 
men  at  his  back  crossed  an  imaginary  line 
and  stirred  the  world  from  Cape  Town  to 
London ;  Emperors  were  crowned ;  the  good 
Queen  celebrated  the  longest  reign;  and  a 
captain  of  artillery  imprisoned  in  a  swampy 
island  in  the  South  Atlantic  caused  two 
hemispheres  to  clamor  for  his  rescue,  and  lit 
a  race  war  that  stretched  from  Algiers  to  the 
boulevards. 

And  yet,  at  the  Windless  Isles,  all  these 
happenings  seemed  to  Sir  Charles  like  the 
morning's  memory  of  a  dream.  For  these 
things  never  crossed  the  ring  of  the  coral 
reefs;  he  saw  them  only  as  pictures  in  an 
illustrated  paper  a  month  old.  And  he  was 
pleased  to  find  that  this  was  so.  He  was 
sufficient  to  himself,  with  his  own  responsi 
bilities  and  social  duties  and  public  works. 
He  was  a  man  in  authority,  who  said  to 
others,  "Come!"  and  "Go!"  Under  him 
were  commissioners,  and  under  the  commis 
sioners  district  inspectors  and  boards  of  edu 
cation  and  of  highways.  For  the  better 
149 


The  Vagrant 

health  of  the  colony  he  had  planted  trees 
that  sucked  the  malaria  from  the  air;  for  its 
better  morals  he  had  substituted  as  a  Sunday 
amusement  cricket-matches  for  cock-fights; 
and  to  keep  it  at  peace  he  had  created  a  local 
constabulary  of  native  negroes,  and  had 
dressed  them  in  the  cast-off  uniforms  of  Lon 
don  policemen.  His  handiwork  was  every 
where,  and  his  interest  was  all  sunk  in  his 
handiwork.  The  days  passed  gorgeous  with 
sunshine,  the  nights  breathed  with  beauty. 
It  was  an  existence  of  leisurely  occupation, 
and  one  that  promised  no  change,  and  he 
was  content. 

As  it  was  Thursday,  the  Council  met  that 
morning,  and  some  questions  of  moment  to 
the  colony  were  to  be  brought  up  for  consid 
eration.  The  question  of  the  dog-tax  was 
one  which  perplexed  Sir  Charles  most  partic 
ularly.  The  two  Councillors  elected  by  the 
people  and  the  three  appointed  by  the  crown 
had  disagreed  as  to  this  tax.  Of  the  five 
hundred  British  subjects  at  the  seaport,  all 
but  ten  were  owners  of  dogs,  and  it  had 
occurred  to  Sassoon,  the  chemist,  that  a  tax 
of  half-a-crown  a  year  on  each  of  these  dogs 
150 


The  Vagrant 

would  meet  the  expense  of  extending  the 
oyster-shell  road  to  the  new  cricket-grounds. 
To  this  Snellgrove,  who  held  the  contract  for 
the  narrow-gauge  railroad,  agreed;  but  the 
three  crown  Councillors  opposed  the  tax 
vigorously,  on  the  ground  that  as  scavengers 
alone  the  dogs  were  a  boon  to  the  colony 
and  should  be  encouraged.  The  fact  that 
each  of  these  gentlemen  owned  not  only  one, 
but  several  dogs  of  high  pedigree  made  their 
position  one  of  great  delicacy. 

There  was  no  way  by  which  the  Governor 
could  test  the  popular  will  in  the  matter,  ex 
cept  through  his  secretary,  Mr.  Clarges,  who, 
at  the  cricket-match  between  the  local  eleven 
and  the  officers  and  crew  of  H.  M.  S.  Par 
tridge,  had  been  informed  by  the  other 
owners  of  several  fox-terriers  that,  in  their 
opinion,  the  tax  was  a  piece  of  "  condemned 
tommy-rot."  From  this  the  Governor  judged 
that  it  would  not  prove  a  popular  measure. 
As  he  paced  the  veranda,  drawing  deliberately 
on  his  cigar,  and  considering  to  which  party 
he  should  give  the  weight  of  his  final  support, 
his  thoughts  were  disturbed  by  the  approach 
of  a  stranger,  who  advanced  along  the  gravel 


The  Vagrant 

walk,  guarded  on  either  side  by  one  of  the 
local  constabulary.  The  stranger  was  young 
and  of  poor  appearance.  His  bare  feet  were 
bound  in  a  pair  of  the  rope  sandals  worn  by 
the  natives,  his  clothing  was  of  torn  and  soiled 
drill,  and  he  fanned  his  face  nonchalantly 
with  a  sombrero  of  battered  and  shapeless 
felt. 

Sir  Charles  halted  in  his  walk,  and  holding 
his  cigar  behind  his  back,  addressed  himself 
to  the  sergeant. 

"  A  vagrant?  "  he  asked. 

The  words  seemed  to  bear  some  amusing 
significance  to  the  stranger,  for  his  face  lit 
instantly  with  a  sweet  and  charming  smile, 
and  while  he  turned  to  hear  the  sergeant's 
reply,  he  regarded  him  with  a  kindly  and 
affectionate  interest. 

"  Yes,  your  Excellency." 

The  Governor  turned  to  the  prisoner. 

"  Do  you  know  the  law  of  this  colony 
regarding  vagrants?" 

"  I  do  not,"  the  young  man  answered.     His 
tone  was  politely  curious,  and  suggested  that 
he  would  like  to  be  further  informed   as   to 
the  local  peculiarities  of  a  foreign  country. 
152 


The  Vagrant 

"After  two  weeks'  residence,"  the  Gov 
ernor  recited,  impressively,  "  all  able-bodied 
persons  who  will  not  work  are  put  to  work  or 
deported.  Have  you  made  any  effort  to  find 
work?" 

Again  the  young  man  smiled  charmingly. 
He  shook  his  head  and  laughed.  "  Oh  dear 
no,"  he  said. 

The  laugh  struck  the  Governor  as  imperti 
nent. 

"  Then  you  must  leave  by  the  next  mail- 
steamer,  if  you  have  any  money  to  pay  your 
passage,  or,  if  you  have  no  money,  you  must 
go  to  work  on  the  roads.  Have  you  any 
money?" 

"If  I  had,  I  wouldn't  —  be  a  vagrant,"  the 
young  man  answered.  His  voice  was  low 
and  singularly  sweet.  It  seemed  to  suit  the 
indolence  of  his  attitude  and  the  lazy,  incon 
sequent  smile.  "  I  called  on  our  consular 
agent  here,"  he  continued,  leisurely,  "  to 
write  a  letter  home  for  money,  but  he  was 
disgracefully  drunk,  so  I  used  his  official 
note-paper  to  write  to  the  State  Department 
about  him,  instead." 

The  Governor's  deepest  interest  was  aroused. 
'53 


The  Vagrant 

The  American  consular  agent  was  one  of  the 
severest  trials  he  was  forced  to  endure. 

"You  are  not  a  British  subject,  then?  Ah, 
I  see  —  and  —  er  —  your  representative  was 
unable  to  assist  you?" 

"  He  was  drunk,"  the  young  man  repeated, 
placidly.  "  He  has  been  drunk  ever  since  I 
have  been  here,  particularly  in  the  mornings." 
He  halted,  as  though  the  subject  had  lost 
interest  for  him,  and  gazed  pleasantly  at  the 
sunny  bay  and  up  at  the  moving  palms, 

"  Then,"  said  the  Governor,  as  though  he 
had  not  been  interrupted,  "  as  you  have  no 
means  of  support,  you  will  help  support  the 
colony  until  you  can  earn  money  to  leave 
it.  That  will  do,  sergeant." 

The  young  man  placed  his  hat  upon  his 
head  and  turned  to  move  away,  but  at  the 
first  step  he  swayed  suddenly  and  caught  at 
the  negro's  shoulder,  clasping  his  other  hand 
across  his  eyes.  The  sergeant  held  him  by 
the  waist,  and  looked  up  at  the  Governor 
with  some  embarrassment. 

"  The  young  gentleman  has  not  been  well, 
Sir  Charles,"  he  said,  apologetically. 

The  stranger  straightened   himself  up  and 


The  Vagrant 

smiled  vaguely.  "  I  'm  all  right,"  he  mur 
mured.  "  Sun  's  too  hot." 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  Governor. 

He  observed  the  stranger  more  closely. 
He  noticed  now  that  beneath  the  tan  his  face 
was  delicate  and  finely  cut,  and  that  his  yel 
low  hair  clung  closely  to  a  well-formed  head. 

"  He  seems  faint.  Has  he  had  anything 
to  eat  ?  "  asked  the  Governor. 

The  sergeant  grinned  guiltily.  "  Yes,  Sir 
Charles ;  we  Ve  been  feeding  him  at  the  bar 
racks.  It's  fever,  sir." 

Sir  Charles  was  not  unacquainted  with 
fallen  gentlemen,  "  beach-combers,"  "  remit 
tance  men,"  and  vagrants  who  had  known 
better  days,  and  there  had  been  something 
winning  in  this  vagrant's  smile,  and,  more 
over,  he  had  reported  that  thorn  in  his  flesh, 
the  consular  agent,  to  the  proper  authorities. 

He  conceived  an  interest  in  a  young  man 
who,  though  with  naked  feet,  did  not  hesitate 
to  correspond  with  his  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  ill  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  young  man  looked  up  from  where  he 
had  sunk  on  the  steps,  and  roused  himself 
155 


The  Vagrant 

with  a  shrug.  "It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said. 
"  I  Ve  had  a  touch  of  Chagres  ever  since  I 
was  on  the  Isthmus.  I  was  at  work  there  on 
the  railroad." 

"Did  you  come  here  from  Colon?" 
"  No ;  I  worked  up  the  Pacific  side.  I 
was  clerking  with  Rossner  Brothers  at  Ama- 
pala  for  a  while,  because  I  speak  a  little  Ger 
man,  and  then  I  footed  it  over  to  Puerto 
Cortez  and  got  a  job  with  the  lottery  people. 
They  gave  me  twenty  dollars  a  month  gold 
for  rolling  the  tickets,  and  I  put  it  all  in  the 
drawing,  and  won  as  much  as  ten."  He 
laughed,  and  sitting  erect,  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  roll  of  thin  green  papers.  "  These 
are  for  the  next  drawing,"  he  said.  "  Have 
some?"  he  added.  He  held  them  towards 
the  negro  sergeant,  who,  under  the  eye  of 
the  Governor,  resisted,  and  then  spread  the 
tickets  on  his  knee  like  a  hand  at  cards. 
"  I  stand  to  win  a  lot  with  these,"  he  said, 
with  a  cheerful  sigh.  "  You  see,  until  the 
list 's  published  I  'm  prospectively  worth 
twenty  thousand  dollars.  And,"  he  added, 
"  I  break  stones  in  the  sun."  He  rose  un 
steadily,  and  saluted  the  Governor  with  a 
156 


The  Vagrant 

nod.  "  Good-morning,  sir,"  he  said,  "  and 
thank  you." 

"  Wait,"  Sir  Charles  commanded.  A  new 
form  of  punishment  had  suggested  itself,  in 
which  justice  was  tempered  with  mercy. 
"  Can  you  work  one  of  your  American  lawn- 
mowers?  "  he  asked. 

The  young  man  laughed  delightedly.  "  I 
never  tried,"  he  said,  "  but  I've  seen  it  done." 

"  If  you  Ve  been  ill,  it  would  be  murder 
to  put  you  on  the  shell  road."  The  Gov 
ernor's  dignity  relaxed  into  a  smile.  "  I  don't 
desire  international  complications,"  he  said. 
"  Sergeant,  take  this  —  him  —  to  the  kitchen, 
and  tell  Corporal  Mallon  to  give  him  that 
American  lawn-mowing  machine.  Possibly 
he  may  understand  its  mechanism.  Mallon 
only  cuts  holes  in  the  turf  with  it."  And  he 
waved  his  hand  in  dismissal,  and  as  the  three 
men  moved  away  he  buried  himself  again  in 
the  perplexities  of  the  dog-tax. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  deliberations  of  the 
Council  were  disturbed  by  a  loud  and  per 
sistent  rattle,  like  the  whir  of  a  Maxim  gun, 
which  proved,  on  investigation,  to  arise  from 
the  American  lawn-mower.  The  vagrant  was 


The  Vagrant 

propelling  it  triumphantly  across  the  lawn, 
and  gazing  down  at  it  with  the  same  fond 
pride  with  which  a  nursemaid  leans  over  the 
perambulator  to  observe  her  lusty  and  gurg 
ling  charge. 

The  Councillors  had  departed,  Sir  Charles 
was  thinking  of  breakfast,  the  Maxim-like 
lawn-mower  still  irritated  the  silent  hush  of 
midday,  when  from  the  waters  of  the  inner 
harbor  there  came  suddenly  the  sharp  report  of 
a  saluting  gun  and  the  rush  of  falling  anchor- 
chains.  There  was  still  a  week  to  pass  before 
the  mail-steamer  should  arrive,  and  H.  M.  S. 
Partridge  had  departed  for  Nassau.  Besides 
these  ships,  no  other  vessel  had  skirted  the 
buoys  of  the  bay  in  eight  long  smiling  months. 
Mr.  Clarges,  the  secretary,  with  an  effort  to 
appear  calm,  and  the  orderly,  suffocated  with 
the  news,  entered  through  separate  doors  at 
the  same  instant. 

The  secretary  filed  his  report  first.  "  A 
yacht's  just  anchored  in  the  bay,  Sir  Charles," 
he  said. 

The  orderly's  face  fell.  He  looked  ag 
grieved.  "  An  American  yacht,"  he  corrected. 

158 


The  Vagrant 

"  And  much  larger  than  the  Partridge!' 
continued  the  secretary. 

The  orderly  took  a  hasty  glance  back  over 
his  shoulder.  "  She  has  her  launch  lowered 
already,  sir,"  he  said. 

Outside  the  whir  of  the  lawn-mower  con 
tinued  undisturbed.  Sir  Charles  reached  for 
his  marine-glass,  and  the  three  men  hurried 
to  the  veranda. 

"  It  looks  like  a  man-of-war,"  said  Sir 
Charles.  "  No,"  he  added,  adjusting  the 
binocular;  "  she 's  a  yacht.  She  flies  the 
New  York  Yacht  Club  pennant  —  now  she  's 
showing  the  owner's  absent  pennant.  He 
must  have  left  in  the  launch.  He 's  coming 
ashore  now." 

"  He  seems  in  a  bit  of  a  hurry,"  growled 
Mr.  Clarges. 

"  Those  Americans  always  —  "  murmured 
Sir  Charles  from  behind  the  binocular.  He 
did  not  quite  know  that  he  enjoyed  this  sud 
den  onslaught  upon  the  privacy  of  his  harbor 
and  port. 

It  was  in  itself  annoying,  and  he  was  further 
annoyed  to  find  that  it  could  in  the  least 
degree  disturb  his  poise. 


The  Vagrant 

The  launch  was  growing  instantly  larger, 
like  an  express  train  approaching  a  station 
at  full  speed;  her  flags  flew  out  as  flat  as 
pieces  of  painted  tin ;  her  bits  of  brass-work 
flashed  like  fire.  Already  the  ends  of  the 
wharves  were  white  with  groups  of  natives. 

"  You  might  think  he  was  going  to  ram 
the  town,"  suggested  the  secretary. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  he  exclaimed,  in  remonstrance, 
"  he  's  making  in  for  your  private  wharf." 

The  Governor  was  rearranging  the  focus 
of  the  glass  with  nervous  fingers.  "  I  be 
lieve,"  he  said,  "  no  —  yes  —  upon  my  word, 
there  are  — there  are  ladies  in  that  launch  !  " 

"  Ladies,  sir !  "  The  secretary  threw  a 
hasty  glance  at  the  binocular,  but  it  was  in 
immediate  use. 

The  clatter  of  the  lawn-mower  ceased 
suddenly,  and  the  relief  of  its  silence  caused 
the  Governor  to  lower  his  eyes.  He  saw  the 
lawn-mower  lying  prostrate  on  the  grass. 
The  vagrant  had  vanished. 

There  was  a  sharp  tinkle  of  bells,  and  the 
launch  slipped  up  to  the  wharf  and  halted  as 
softly  as  a  bicycle.  A  man  in  a  yachting- 
suit  jumped  from  her,  and  making  some 
1 60 


The  Vagrant 

laughing  speech  to  the  two  women  in  the 
stern,  walked  briskly  across  the  lawn,  taking 
a  letter  from  his  pocket  as  he  came.  Sir 
Charles  awaited  him  gravely;  the  occupants 
of  the  launch  had  seen  him,  and  it  was  too 
late  to  retreat. 

"  Sir  Charles  Greville,  I  believe,"  said  the 
yachtsman.  He  bowed,  and  ran  lightly  up 
the  steps.  "  I  am  Mr.  Robert  Collier,  from 
New  York,"  he  said.  "  I  have  a  letter  to 
you  from  your  ambassador  at  Washington. 
If  you  '11  pardon  me,  I  '11  present  it  in  person. 
I  had  meant  to  leave  it,  but  seeing  you  — 
He  paused,  and  gave  the  letter  in  his  hand 
to  Sir  Charles,  who  waved  him  towards  his 
library. 

Sir  Charles  scowled  at  the  letter  through 
his  monocle,  and  then  shook  hands  with  his 
visitor.  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. 
Collier,"  he  said.  "  He  says  here  you  are 
preparing  a  book  on  our  colonies  in  the 
West  Indies."  He  tapped  the  letter  with 
his  monocle.  "  I  am  sure  I  shall  be  most 
happy  to  assist  you  with  any  information  in 
my  power." 

"Well,  I  am  writing  a  book  —  yes,"  Mr. 
161 


The  Vagrant 

Collier  observed,  doubtfully,  "  but  it 's  a  log 
book.  This  trip  I  am  on  pleasure  bent,  and 
I  also  wish  to  consult  with  you  on  a  personal 
matter.  However,  that  can  wait."  He 
glanced  out  of  the  windows  to  where  the 
launch  lay  in  the  sun.  "  My  wife  came 
ashore  with  me,  Sir  Charles,"  he  said,  "  so 
that  in  case  there  was  a  Lady  Greville,  Mrs. 
Collier  could  call  on  her,  and  we  could  ask 
if  you  would  waive  etiquette  and  do  us  the 
honor  to  dine  with  us  to-night  on  the  yacht 
—  that  is,  if  you  are  not  engaged." 

Sir  Charles  smiled.  "  There  is  no  Lady 
Greville,"  he  said,  "  and  I  personally  do  not 
think  I  am  engaged  elsewhere."  He  paused 
in  thought,  as  though  to  make  quite  sure  he 
was  not.  "No,"  he  added,  "  I  have  no  other 
engagement.  I  will  come  with  pleasure." 

Sir  Charles  rose  and  clapped  his  hands 
for  the  orderly.  "  Possibly  the  ladies  will 
come  up  to  the  veranda?"  he  asked.  "I 
cannot  allow  them  to  remain  at  the  end  of 
my  wharf."  He  turned,  and  gave  directions 
to  the  orderly  to  bring  limes  and  bottles  of 
soda  and  ice,  and  led  the  way  across  the 
lawn. 

162 


The  Vagrant 

Mrs.  Collier  and  her  friend  had  not  ex 
plored  the  grounds  of  Government  House  for 
over  ten  minutes  before  Sir  Charles  felt  that 
many  years  ago  he  had  personally  arranged 
their  visit,  that  he  had  known  them  for  even 
a  longer  time,  and  that,  now  that  they  had 
finally  arrived,  they  must  never  depart. 

To  them  there  was  apparently  nothing  on 
his  domain  which  did  not  thrill  with  delight 
ful  interest.  They  were  as  eager  as  two 
children  at  a  pantomime,  and  as  unconscious. 
As  a  rule,  Sir  Charles  had  found  it  rather 
difficult  to  meet  the  women  of  his  colony 
on  a  path  which  they  were  capable  of  tread 
ing  intelligently.  In  fairness  to  them,  he  had 
always  sought  out  some  topic  in  which  they 
could  take  an  equal  part  —  something  con 
nected  with  the  conduct  of  children,  or  the 
better  ventilation  of  the  new  school-house 
and  chapel.  But  these  new-comers  did  not 
require  him  to  select  topics  of  conversation ; 
they  did  not  even  wait  for  him  to  finish  those 
which  he  himself  introduced.  They  flitted 
from  one  end  of  the  garden  to  the  other  with 
the  eagerness  of  two  midshipmen  on  shore 
leave,  and  they  found  something  to  enjoy 


The  Vagrant 

in  what  seemed  to  the  Governor  the  most 
commonplace  of  things.  The  Zouave  uni 
form  of  the  sentry,  the  old  Spanish  cannon 
converted  into  peaceful  gate-posts,  the  avi 
ary  with  its  screaming  paroquets,  the  botani 
cal  station,  and  even  the  ice-machine  were 
all  objects  of  delight. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  interior  of  the 
famous  palace,  which  had  been  sent  out  com 
plete  from  London,  and  which  was  wont  to 
fill  the  wives  of  the  colonials  with  awe  or  to 
reduce  them  to  whispers,  for  some  reason 
failed  of  its  effect.  But  they  said  they 
"  loved  "  the  large  gold  V.  R.'s  on  the  back 
of  the  Councillors'  chairs,  and  they  exclaimed 
aloud  over  the  red  leather  despatch-boxes 
and  the  great  seal  of  the  colony,  and  the 
mysterious  envelopes  marked  "  On  her  Ma 
jesty's  service." 

"  Is  n't  it  too  exciting,  Florence?"  de 
manded  Mrs.  Collier.  "  This  is  the  table 
where  Sir  Charles  sits  and  writes  letters  '  on 
her  Majesty's  service,'  and  presses  these 
buttons,  and  war-ships  spring  up  in  perfect 
shoals.  Oh,  Robert,"  she  sighed,  "I  do 
wish  you  had  been  a  Governor !  " 
164 


The  Vagrant 

The  young  lady  called  Florence  stood 
looking  down  into  the  great  arm-chair  in 
front  of  the  Governor's  table. 

"  May  I?"  she  asked.  She  slid  fearlessly 
in  between  the  oak  arms  of  the  chair  and 
smiled  about  her.  Afterwards  Sir  Charles 
remembered  her  as  she  appeared  at  that 
moment  with  the  red  leather  of  the  chair 
behind  her,  with  her  gloved  hands  resting  on 
the  carved  oak,  and  her  head  on  one  side, 
smiling  up  at  him.  She  gazed  with  large 
eyes  at  the  blue  linen  envelopes,  the  stiff 
documents  in  red  tape,  the  tray  of  black 
sand,  and  the  goose-quill  pens. 

"  I  am  now  the  Countess  Zika,"  she  an 
nounced  ;  "  no,  I  am  Diana  of  the  Crossways, 
and  I  mean  to  discover  a  state  secret  and 
sell  it  to  the  Daily  Telegraph.  Sir  Charles," 
she  demanded,  "  if  I  press  this  electric 
button  is  war  declared  anywhere,  or  what 
happens?'* 

"That  second  button,"  said  Sir  Charles, 
after  deliberate  scrutiny,  "  is  the  one  which 
communicates  with  the  pantry." 

The  Governor  would  not  consider  their 
returning  to  the  yacht  for  luncheon. 

165 


The  Vagrant 

"  You  might  decide  to  steam  away  as 
suddenly  as  you  came,"  he  said,  gallantly, 
"  and  I  cannot  take  that  chance.  This  is 
Bachelor's  Hall,  so  you  must  pardon  my 
people  if  things  do  not  go  very  smoothly." 
He  himself  led  them  to  the  great  guest- 
chamber,  where  there  had  not  been  a  guest 
for  many  years,  and  he  noticed,  as  though 
for  the  first  time,  that  the  halls  through 
which  they  passed  were  bare,  and  that  the 
floor  was  littered  with  unpacked  boxes  and 
gun-cases.  He  also  observed  for  the  first 
time  that  maps  of  the  colony,  with  the 
coffee-plantations  and  mahogany  belt  marked 
in  different  inks,  were  not  perhaps  so  decora 
tive  as  pictures  and  mirrors  and  family  por 
traits.  And  he  could  have  wished  that  the 
native  servants  had  not  stared  so  admiringly 
at  the  guests,  nor  directed  each  other  in 
such  aggressive  whispers.  On  those  other 
occasions,  when  the  wives  of  the  Councillors 
came  to  the  semi-annual  dinners,  the  native 
servants  had  seemed  adequate  to  all  that 
was  required  of  them.  He  recollected  with 
a  flush  that  in  the  town  these  semi-annual 
dinners  were  described  as  banquets.  He 
166 


The  Vagrant 

wondered  if  to  these  visitors  from  the  out 
side  world  it  was  all  equally  provincial. 

But  their  enjoyment  was  apparently  un 
feigned  and  generous.  It  was  evident  that 
they  had  known  each  other  for  many  years, 
yet  they  received  every  remark  that  any  of 
them  made  as  though  it  had  been  pronounced 
by  a  new  and  interesting  acquaintance.  Sir 
Charles  found  it  rather  difficult  to  keep  up 
with  the  talk  across  the  table,  they  changed 
the  subject  so  rapidly,  and  they  half  spoke 
of  so  many  things  without  waiting  to  explain. 
He  could  not  at  once  grasp  the  fact  that 
people  who  had  no  other  position  in  the 
world  save  that  of  observers  were  speaking 
so  authoritatively  of  public  men  and  public 
measures.  He  found,  to  his  delight,  that  for 
the  first  time  in  several  years  he  was  not  pre 
siding  at  his  own  table,  and  that  his  guests 
seemed  to  feel  no  awe  of  him. 

"What's  the  use  of  a  yacht  nowadays?" 
Collier  was  saying  —  "  what 's  the  use  of  a 
yacht,  when  you  can  go  to  sleep  in  a  wagon- 
lit  at  the  Gare  du  Nord,  and  wake  up  at 
Vladivostok?  And  look  at  the  time  it  saves; 
eleven  days  to  Gib,  six  to  Port  Said,  and 


The  Vagrant 

fifteen  to  Colombo  —  there  you  are,  only 
half-way  around,  and  you  're  already  sixteen 
days  behind  the  man  in  the  wagon-lit." 

"  But  nobody  wants  to  go  to  Vladivostok," 
said  Miss  Cameron,  "  or  anywhere  else  in 
a  wagon-lit.  But  with  a  yacht  you  can  ex 
plore  out-of-the-way  places,  and  you  meet 
new  and  interesting  people.  We  wouldn't 
have  met  Sir  Charles  if  we  had  waited  for 
a  wagon-lit."  She  bowed  her  head  to  the 
Governor,  and  he  smiled  with  gratitude.  He 
had  lost  Mr.  Collier  somewhere  in  the  Indian 
Ocean,  and  he  was  glad  she  had  brought 
them  back  to  the  Windless  Isles  once  more. 

"And  again  I  repeat  that  the  answer  to 
that  is,  'Why  not?  said  the  March  Hare,'" 
remarked  Mr.  Collier,  determinedly. 

The  answer,  as  an  answer,  did  not  strike 
Sir  Charles  as  a  very  good  one.  But  the 
ladies  seemed  to  comprehend,  for  Miss 
Cameron  said :  "  Did  I  tell  you  about  meet 
ing  him  at  Oxford  just  a  few  months  be 
fore  his  death  —  at  a  children's  tea-party? 
He  was  so  sweet  and  understanding  with 
them !  Two  women  tried  to  lionize  him, 
and  he  ran  away  and  played  with  the 
1 68 


The  Vagrant 

children.  I  was  more  glad  to  meet  him 
than  any  one  I  can  think  of.  Not  as  a  per 
sonage,  you  know,  but  because  I  felt  grateful 
to  him." 

"Yes,  that  way,  distinctly,"  said  Mrs. 
Collier.  "  I  should  have  felt  that  way 
towards  Mrs.  Ewing  more  than  any  one 
else." 

"  I  know,  *  Jackanapes,'  "  remarked  Collier, 
shortly ;  "  a  brutal  assault  upon  the  feelings, 
I  say." 

"  Some  one  else  said  it  before  you, 
Robert,"  Mrs.  Collier  commented,  calmly. 
"  Perhaps  Sir  Charles  met  him  at  Apia." 
They  all  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He 
wished  he  could  say  he  had  met  him  at 
Apia.  He  did  not  quite  see  how  they  had 
made  their  way  from  a  children's  tea  party 
at  Oxford  to  the  South  Pacific  islands,  but 
he  was  anxious  to  join  in  somewhere  with 
a  clever  observation.  But  they  never  seemed 
to  settle  in  one  place  sufficiently  long  for  him 
to  recollect  what  he  knew  of  it.  He  hoped 
they  would  get  around  to  the  west  coast  of 
Africa  in  time.  He  had  been  Governor  of 
Sierra  Leone  for  five  years. 
169 


The  Vagrant 

His  success  that  night  at  dinner  on  the 
yacht  was  far  better.  The  others  seemed 
a  little  tired  after  the  hours  of  sight-seeing 
to  which  he  had  treated  them,  and  they  were 
content  to  listen.  In  the  absence  of  Mr. 
Clarges,  who  knew  them  word  by  word,  he 
felt  free  to  tell  his  three  stories  of  life  at 
Sierra  Leone.  He  took  his  time  in  the  tell 
ing,  and  could  congratulate  himself  that  his 
efforts  had  never  been  more  keenly  appre 
ciated.  He  felt  that  he  was  holding  his 
own. 

The  night  was  still  and  warm,  and  while 
the  men  lingered  below  at  the  table,  the  two 
women  mounted  to  the  deck  and  watched 
the  lights  of  the  town  as  they  vanished  one 
by  one  and  left  the  moon  in  unchallenged 
possession  of  the  harbor.  For  a  long  time 
Miss  Cameron  stood  silent,  looking  out 
across  the  bay  at  the  shore  and  the  hills 
beyond.  A  fish  splashed  near  them,  and  the 
sound  of  oars  rose  from  the  mist  that  floated 
above  the  water,  until  they  were  muffled  in 
the  distance.  The  palms  along  the  shore 
glistened  like  silver,  and  overhead  the  South 
ern  Cross  shone  white  against  a  sky  of 
170 


The  Vagrant 

purple.  The  silence  deepened  and  con 
tinued  for  so  long  a  time  that  Mrs.  Collier 
felt  its  significance,  and  waited  for  the  girl 
to  end  it. 

Miss  Cameron  raised  her  eyes  to  the  stars 
and  frowned.  "  I  am  not  surprised  that  he 
is  content  to  stay  here,"  she  said.  "Are 
you?  It  is  so  beautiful,  so  wonderfully 
beautiful." 

For  a  moment  Mrs.  Collier  made  no 
answer.  "  Two  years  is  a  long  time,  Flor 
ence,"  she  said;  "and  he  is  all  I  have;  he 
is  not  only  my  only  brother,  he  is  the  only 
living  soul  who  is  related  to  me.  That 
makes  it  harder." 

The  girl  seemed  to  find  some  implied  re 
proach  in  the  speech,  for  she  turned  and 
looked  at  her  friend  closely.  "  Do  you 
feel  it  is  my  fault,  Alice  ?  "  she  asked. 

The  older  woman  shook  her  head.  "  How 
could  it  be  your  fault?"  she  answered.  "  If 
you  could  n't  love  him  enough  to  marry  him, 
you  could  n't,  that 's  all.  But  that  is  no 
reason  why  he  should  have  hidden  himself 
from  all  of  us.  Even  if  he  could  not  stand 
being  near  you,  caring  as  he  did,  he  need 
171 


The  Vagrant 

not  have  treated  me  so.  We  have  done  all 
we  can  do,  and  Robert  has  been  more  than 
fine  about  it.  He  and  his  agents  have  written 
to  every  consul  and  business  house  in  Central 
America,  and  I  don't  believe  there  is  a  city 
that  he  hasn't  visited.  He  has  sent  him 
money  and  letters  to  every  bank  and  to  every 
post-office  —  " 

The  girl  raised  her  head  quickly. 

"  —  but  he  never  calls  for  either,"  Mrs. 
Collier  continued,  "  for  I  know  that  if  he  had 
read  my  letters  he  would  have  come  home." 

The  girl  lifted  her  head  as  though  she 
were  about  to  speak,  and  then  turned  and 
walked  slowly  away.  After  a  few  moments 
she  returned,  and  stood,  with  her  hands 
resting  on  the  rail,  looking  down  into  the 
water.  "  I  wrote  him  two  letters,"  she  said. 
In  the  silence  of  the  night  her  voice  was 
unusually  clear  and  distinct  "I — you 
make  me  wonder  —  if  they  ever  reached 
him." 

Mrs.  Collier,  with  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the 

girl,   rose  slowly  from  her  chair  and  came 

towards   her.     She    reached   out    her    hand 

and    touched    Miss    Cameron   on  the    arm, 

172 


*     The  Vagrant 

"  Florence,"  she  said,  in  a  whisper,    "  have 
you  —  " 

The  girl  raised  her  head  slowly,  and 
lowered  it  again.  "Yes,"  she  answered;  "I 
told  him  to  come  back  —  to  come  back  to 
me.  Alice,"  she  cried,  "I  —  I  begged  him 
to  come  back !  "  She  tossed  her  hands  apart 
and  again  walked  rapidly  away,  leaving  the 
older  woman  standing  motionless. 

A  moment  later,  when  Sir  Charles  and 
Mr.  Collier  stepped  out  upon  the  deck,  they 
discovered  the  two  women  standing  close 
together,  two  white,  ghostly  figures  in  the 
moonlight,  and  as  they  advanced  towards 
them  they  saw  Mrs.  Collier  take  the  girl 
for  an  instant  in  her  arms. 

Sir  Charles  was  asking  Miss  Cameron  how 
long  she  thought  an  immigrant  should  be 
made  to  work  for  his  freehold  allotment, 
when  Mr.  Collier  and  his  wife  rose  at  the 
same  moment  and  departed  on  separate 
errands.  They  met  most  mysteriously  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wheel-house. 

"What  is  it?  Is  anything  wrong  with 
Florence?"  Collier  asked,  anxiously.  "  Not 
homesick,  is  she  ?  " 

'73 


The  Vagrant 

Mrs.  Collier  put  her  hands  on  her  hus 
band's  shoulders  and  shook  her  head. 

"Wrong?  No,  thank  Heaven!  it's  as 
right  as  right  can  be  !  "  she  cried.  "  She  's 
written  to  him  to  come  back,  but  he 's 
never  answered,  and  so  —  and  now  it 's  all 
right." 

Mr.  Collier  gazed  blankly  at  his  wife's  up 
turned  face.  "Well,  I  don't  see  that,"  he 
remonstrated.  "What's  the  use  of  her  being 
in  love  with  him  now  when  he  can't  be  found? 
What?  Why  did  n't  she  love  him  two  years 
ago  when  he  was  where  you  could  get 
at  him  —  at  her  house,  for  instance.  He 
was  there  most  of  his  time.  She  would 
have  saved  a  lot  of  trouble.  However,"  he 
added,  energetically,  "this  makes  it  abso 
lutely  necessary  to  find  that  young  man  and 
bring  him  to  his  senses.  We  '11  search  this 
place  for  the  next  few  days,  and  then  we  '11 
try  the  mainland  again.  I  think  I  '11  offer 
a  reward  for  him,  and  have  it  printed  in 
Spanish,  and  paste  it  up  in  all  the  plazas. 
We  might  add  a  line  in  English,  '  She  has 
changed  her  mind.'  That  would  bring  him 
home,  wouldn't  it?" 


The  Vagrant 

"  Don't  be  unfeeling,  Robert,"  said  Mrs. 
Collier. 

Her  husband  raised  his  eyes  appealingly, 
and  addressed  himself  to  the  moon.  "  I  ask 
you  now,"  he  complained,  "  is  that  fair  to  a 
man  who  has  spent  six  months  on  muleback 
trying  to  round  up  a  prodigal  brother-in-law?  " 

That  same  evening,  after  the  ladies  had 
gone  below,  Mr.  Collier  asked  Sir  Charles 
to  assist  him  in  his  search  for  his  wife's 
brother,  and  Sir  Charles  heartily  promised 
his  most  active  co-operation.  There  were 
several  Americans  at  work  in  the  interior, 
he  said,  as  overseers  on  the  coffee-planta 
tions.  It  was  possible  that  the  runaway 
might  be  among  them.  It  was  only  that 
morning,  Sir  Charles  remembered,  that  an 
American  had  been  at  work  "  repairing  his 
lawn-mower,"  as  he  considerately  expressed 
it.  He  would  send  for  him  on  the  morrow. 

But  on  the  morrow  the  slave  of  the  lawn- 
mower  was  reported  on  the  list  of  prison 
ers  as  "missing,"  and  Corporal  Mallon  was 
grieved,  but  refused  to  consider  himself  re 
sponsible.  Sir  Charles  himself  had  allowed 
the  vagrant  unusual  freedom,  and  the  vagrant 
175 


The  Vagrant 

had  taken  advantage  of  it,  and  probably 
escaped  to  the  hills,  or  up  the  river  to 
the  logwood  camp. 

"Telegraph  a  description  of  him  to  In 
spector  Garrett,"  Sir  Charles  directed,  "  and 
to  the  heads  of  all  up  stations.  And  when 
he  returns,  bring  him  to  me." 

So  great  was  his  zeal  that  Sir  Charles 
further  offered  to  join  Mr.  Collier  in  his 
search  among  the  outlying  plantations;  but 
Mr.  Collier  preferred  to  work  alone.  He 
accordingly  set  out  at  once,  armed  with 
letters  to  the  different  district  inspectors, 
and  in  his  absence  delegated  to  Sir  Charles 
the  pleasant  duty  of  caring  for  the  wants  of 
Miss  Cameron  and  his  wife.  Sir  Charles  re 
garded  the  latter  as  deserving  of  all  sympathy, 
for  Mr.  Collier,  in  his  efforts  to  conceal  the 
fact  from  the  Governor  that  Florence  Cameron 
was  responsible,  or  in  any  way  concerned,  in 
the  disappearance  of  the  missing  man,  had 
been  too  mysterious.  Sir  Charles  was  con 
vinced  that  the  fugitive  had  swindled  his 
brother-in-law  and  stolen  his  sister's  jewels. 
The  days  which  followed  were  to  the  Gov 
ernor  days  and  nights  of  strange  discoveries. 


The  Vagrant 

He  recognized  that  the  missionaries  from  the 
great  outside  world  had  invaded  his  shores 
and  disturbed  his  gods  and  temples.  Their 
religion  of  progress  and  activity  filled  him 
with  doubt  and  unrest. 

"  In  this  century,"  Mr.  Collier  had  declared, 
"  nothing  can  stand  still.  It 's  the  same  with 
a  corporation,  or  a  country,  or  a  man.  We 
must  either  march  ahead  or  fall  out.  We 
can't  mark  time.  What?  " 

"  Exactly  — certainly  not,"  Sir  Charles  had 
answered.  But  in  his  heart  he  knew  that  he 
himself  had  been  marking  time  under  these 
soft  tropical  skies  while  the  world  was  push 
ing  forward.  The  thought  had  not  disturbed 
him  before.  Now  he  felt  guilty.  He  con 
ceived  a  sudden  intolerance,  if  not  contempt, 
for  the  little  village  of  whitewashed  houses, 
for  the  rafts  of  mahogany  and  of  logwood 
that  bumped  against  the  pier-heads,  for  the 
sacks  of  coffee  piled  high  like  barricades 
under  the  corrugated  zinc  sheds  along  the 
wharf.  Each  season  it  had  been  his  pride 
to  note  the  increase  in  these  exports.  The 
development  of  the  resources  of  his  colony 
had  been  a  work  in  which  he  had  felt  that 

12  I 


The  Vagrant 

the  Colonial  Secretary  took  an  immediate 
interest.  He  had  believed  that  he  was  one 
of  the  important  wheels  of  the  machinery 
which  moved  the  British  Empire :  and  now, 
in  a  day,  he  was  undeceived.  It  was  forced 
upon  him  that  to  the  eyes  of  the  outside  world 
he  was  only  a  greengrocer  operating  on  a 
large  scale ;  he  provided  the  British  public 
with  coffee  for  its  breakfast,  with  drugs  for 
its  stomach,  and  with  strange  woods  for 
its  dining-room  furniture  and  walking-sticks. 
He  combated  this  ignominious  character 
ization  of  his  position  indignantly.  The 
new  arrivals  certainly  gave  him  no  hint 
that  they  considered  him  so  lightly.  This 
thought  greatly  comforted  him,  for  he  felt 
that  in  some  way  he  was  summoning  to  his 
aid  all  of  his  assets  and  resources  to  meet 
an  expert  and  final  valuation.  As  he  ranged 
them  before  him  he  was  disturbed  and  happy 
to  find  that  the  value  he  placed  upon  them 
was  the  value  they  would  have  in  the  eyes 
of  a  young  girl  —  not  a  girl  of  the  shy, 
mother-obeying,  man-worshipping  English 
type,  but  a  girl  such  as  Miss  Cameron 
seemed  to  be,  a  girl  who  could  understand 


The  Vagrant 

what  you  were  trying  to  say  before  you  said 
it,  who  could  take  an  interest  in  rates  of  ex 
change  and  preside  at  a  dinner  table,  who 
was  charmingly  feminine  and  clever,  and 
who  was  respectful  of  herself  and  of  others. 
In  fact,  he  decided,  with  a  flush,  that  Miss 
Cameron  herself  was  the  young  girl  he  had 
in  his  mind. 

"Why  not?"  he  asked. 

The  question  came  to  him  in  his  room, 
the  sixth  night  of  their  visit,  and  he  strode 
over  to  the  long  pier-glass  and  stood  study 
ing  himself  critically  for  the  first  time  in 
years.  He  was  still  a  fine-looking,  well-kept 
man.  His  hair  was  thin,  but  that  fact  did 
not  show ;  and  his  waist  was  lost,  but  riding 
and  tennis  would  set  that  right.  He  had 
means  outside  of  his  official  salary,  and 
there  was  the  title,  such  as  it  was.  Lady 
Greville  the  wife  of  the  birthday  knight 
sounded  as  well  as  Lady  Greville  the  mar 
chioness.  And  Americans  cared  for  these 
things.  He  doubted  whether  this  particular 
American  would  do  so,  but  he  was  adding 
up  all  he  had  to  offer,  and  that  was  one  of 
the  assets.  He  was  sure  she  would  not  be 
179 


The  Vagrant 

content  to  remain  mistress  of  the  Windless 
Isles.  Nor,  indeed,  did  he  longer  care  to 
be  master  there,  now  that  he  had  inhaled 
this  quick,  stirring  breath  from  the  outer 
world.  He  would  resign,  and  return  and 
mix  with  the  world  again.  He  would  enter 
Parliament;  a  man  so  well  acquainted  as 
himself  with  the  Gold  Coast  of  Africa  and 
with  the  trade  of  the  West  Indies  must 
always  be  of  value  in  the  Lower  House. 
This  value  would  be  recognized,  no  doubt, 
and  he  would  become  at  first  an  Under 
secretary  for  the  Colonies,  and  then,  in 
time,  Colonial  Secretary  and  a  cabinet  min 
ister.  She  would  like  that,  he  thought.  And 
after  that  place  had  been  reached,  all  things 
were  possible.  For  years  he  had  not  dreamed 
such  dreams  —  not  since  he  had  been  a  clerk 
in  the  Foreign  Office.  They  seemed  just  as 
possible  now  as  they  had  seemed  real  then, 
and  just  as  near.  He  felt  it  was  all  absolutely 
in  his  own  hands. 

He  descended  to  the  dining-room  with  the 

air  of  a  man  who    already  felt  the  cares  of 

high  responsibility  upon  his  shoulders.     His 

head  was  erect  and  his  chest  thrown  forward. 

180 


The  Vagrant 

He  was  ten  years  younger ;  his  manner  was 
alert,  assured,  and  gracious.  As  he  passed 
through  the  halls  he  was  impatient  of  the 
familiar  settings  of  Government  House ;  they 
seemed  to  him  like  the  furnishings  of  a  hotel 
where  he  had  paid  his  bill,  and  where  his 
luggage  was  lying  strapped  for  departure  in 
the  hallway. 

In  his  library  he  saw  on  his  table  a  number 
of  papers  lying  open  waiting  for  his  signature, 
the  dog-tax  among  the  others.  He  smiled 
to  remember  how  important  it  had  seemed 
to  him  in  the  past  —  in  that  past  of  indolence 
and  easy  content.  Now  he  was  on  fire  to 
put  this  rekindled  ambition  to  work,  to  tell 
the  woman  who  had  lighted  it  that  it  was  all 
from  her  and  for  her,  that  without  her  he  had 
existed,  that  now  he  had  begun  to  live. 

They  had  never  found  him  so  delighful  as 
he  appeared  that  night.  He  was  like  a  man 
on  the  eve  of  a  holiday.  He  made  a  jest  of 
his  past  efforts;  he  made  them  see,  as  he 
now  saw  it  for  the  first  time,  that  side  of 
the  life  of  the  Windless  Isles  which  was 
narrow  and  petty,  even  ridiculous.  He 
talked  of  big  men  in  a  big  way;  he  criti- 
181 


The  Vagrant 

cised,  and  expounded,  and  advanced  his 
own  theories  of  government  and  the  proper 
control  of  an  empire. 

Collier,  who  had  returned  from  his  unsuc 
cessful  search  of  the  plantations,  shook  his 
head. 

"  It 's  a  pity  you  are  not  in  London  now," 
he  said,  sincerely.  "  They  need  some  one 
there  who  has  been  on  the  spot.  They  can't 
direct  the  colonies  from  what  they  know  of 
them  in  Whitehall." 

Sir  Charles  fingered  the  dinner  cloth  ner 
vously,  and  when  he  spoke,  fixed  his  eyes 
anxiously  upon  Miss  Cameron. 

"  Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been 
thinking  of  doing  that  very  thing,  of  resign 
ing  my  post  here  and  going  back,  entering 
Parliament,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

His  declaration  met  with  a  unanimous 
chorus  of  delight.  Miss  Cameron  nodded 
her  head  with  eager  approval. 

"  Yes,  if  I  were  a  man,  that  is  where  I 
should  wish  to  be,"  she  said,  "  at  the  heart  of 
it.  Why,  whatever  you  say  in  the  House  of 
Commons  is  heard  all  over  the  world  the 
next  morning." 

182 


The  Vagrant 

Sir  Charles  felt  the  blood  tingle  in  his 
pulses.  He  had  not  been  so  stirred  in  years. 
Her  words  ran  to  his  head  like  wine. 

Mr.  Collier  raised  his  glass. 

"  Here 's  to  our  next  meeting,"  he  said, 
"  on  the  terrace  of  the  House  of  Commons." 

But  Miss  Cameron  interrupted.  "  No ;  to 
the  Colonial  Secretary,"  she  amended. 

"  Oh  yes,"  they  assented,  rising,  and  so 
drank  his  health,  smiling  down  upon  him 
with  kind,  friendly  glances  and  good-will. 

"  To  the  Colonial  Secretary,"  they  said. 
Sir  Charles  clasped  the  arms  of  his  chair 
tightly  with  his  hands;  his  eyes  were  half 
closed,  and  his  lips  pressed  into  a  grim,  con 
fident  smile.  He  felt  that  a  single  word 
from  her  would  make  all  that  they  suggested 
possible.  If  she  cared  for  such  things,  they 
were  hers ;  he  had  them  to  give ;  they  were 
ready  lying  at  her  feet.  He  knew  that  the 
power  had  always  been  with  him,  lying  dor 
mant  in  his  heart  and  brain.  It  had  only 
waited  for  the  touch  of  the  Princess  to  wake 
it  into  life. 

The  American  visitors  were  to  sail  for  the 
mainland  the  next  day,  but  he  had  come  to 
183 


The  Vagrant 

know  them  so  well  in  the  brief  period  of  their 
visit  that  he  felt  he  dared  speak  to  her  that 
same  night.  At  least  he  could  give  her  some 
word  that  would  keep  him  in  her  mind  until 
they  met  again  in  London,  or  until  she  had 
considered  her  answer.  He  could  not  expect 
her  to  answer  at  once.  She  could  take  much 
time.  What  else  had  he  to  do  now  but  to 
wait  for  her  answer?  It  was  now  all  that 
made  life. 

Collier  and  his  wife  had  left  the  veranda 
and  had  crossed  the  lawn  towards  the  water's 
edge.  The  moonlight  fell  full  upon  them 
with  all  the  splendor  of  the  tropics,  and  lit 
the  night  with  a  brilliant,  dazzling  radiance. 
From  where  Miss  Cameron  sat  on  the  ver 
anda  in  the  shadow,  Sir  Charles  could  see 
only  the  white  outline  of  her  figure  and  the 
indolent  movement  of  her  fan.  Collier  had 
left  his  wife  and  was  returning  slowly  towards 
the  step.  Sir  Charles  felt  that  if  he  meant  to 
speak  he  must  speak  now,  and  quickly.  He 
rose  and  placed  himself  beside  her  in  the 
shadow,  and  the  girl  turned  her  head  inquir 
ingly  and  looked  up  at  him. 

But   on  the  instant  the  hush  of  the  night 


The  Vagrant 

was  broken  by  a  sharp  challenge,  and  the 
sound  of  men's  voices  raised  in  anger;  there 
was  the  noise  of  a  struggle  on  the  gravel,  and 
from  the  corner  of  the  house  the  two  sentries 
came  running,  dragging  between  them  a  slight 
figure  that  fought  and  wrestled  to  be  free. 

Sir  Charles  exclaimed  with  indignant  im 
patience,  and  turning,  strode  quickly  to  the 
head  of  the  steps. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  he  demanded. 
"What  are  you  doing  with  that  man?  Why 
did  you  bring  him  here?  " 

As  the  soldiers  straightened  to  attention, 
their  prisoner  ceased  to  struggle,  and  stood 
with  his  head  bent  on  his  chest.  His  som 
brero  was  pulled  down  low  across  his  fore 
head. 

"  He  was  crawling  through  the  bushes,  Sir 
Charles,"  the  soldier  panted,  "  watching  that 
gentleman,  sir,"  —  he  nodded  over  his  shoul 
der  towards  Collier.  "  I  challenged,  and  he 
jumped  to  run,  and  we  collared  him.  He  re 
sisted,  Sir  Charles." 

The  mind  of  the  Governor  was  concerned 
with  other  matters  than  trespassers. 

"  Well,  take  him  to  the  barracks,  then,"  he 
185 


The  Vagrant 

said.  "  Report  to  me  in  the  morning.  That 
will  do." 

The  prisoner  wheeled  eagerly,  without 
further  show  of  resistance,  and  the  soldiers 
closed  in  on  him  on  either  side.  But  as  the 
three  men  moved  away  together,  their  faces, 
which  had  been  in  shadow,  were  now  turned 
towards  Mr.  Collier,  who  was  advancing  leis 
urely,  and  with  silent  footsteps,  across  the 
grass.  He  met  them  face  to  face,  and  as  he 
did  so  the  prisoner  sprang  back  and  threw 
out  his  arms  in  front  of  him,  with  the  gesture 
of  a  man  who  entreats  silence.  Mr.  Collier 
halted  as  though  struck  to  stone,  and  the  two 
men  confronted  each  other  without  moving. 

"  Good  God  !  "  Mr.  Collier  whispered. 

He  turned  stiffly  and  slowly,  as  though  in 
a  trance,  and  beckoned  to  his  wife,  who  had 
followed  him. 

"  Alice !  "  he  called.  He  stepped  back 
wards  towards  her,  and  taking  her  hand  in 
one  of  his,  drew  her  towards  the  prisoner. 
"  Here  he  is  !  "  he  said. 

They  heard  her  cry  "  Henry !  "  with  the 
fierceness  of  a  call  for  help,  and  saw  her  rush 
forward  and  stumble  into  the  arms  of  the 
186 


The  Vagrant 

prisoner,  and  their  two  heads  were  bent  close 
together. 

Collier  ran  up  the  steps  and  explained 
breathlessly. 

"  And  now,"  he  gasped,  in  conclusion, 
"what's  to  be  done?  What's  he  arrested 
for?  Is  it  bailable?  What?" 

"  Good  heavens !  "  exclaimed  Sir  Charles, 
miserably.  "  It  is  my  fault  entirely.  I  as 
sure  you  I  had  no  idea.  How  could  I?  But 
I  should  have  known,  I  should  have  guessed 
it."  He  dismissed  the  sentries  with  a  gest 
ure.  "  That  will  do,"  he  said.  "  Return  to 
your  posts." 

Mr.  Collier  laughed  with  relief. 

"Then  it  is  not  serious?  "  he  asked. 

"He  —  he  had  no  money,  that  was  all," 
exclaimed  Sir  Charles.  "Serious?  Cer 
tainly  not.  Upon  my  word,  I  'm  sorry  —  " 

The  young  man  had  released  himself  from 
his  sister's  embrace,  and  was  coming  towards 
them ;  and  Sir  Charles,  eager  to  redeem  him 
self,  advanced  hurriedly  to  greet  him.  But 
the  young  man  did  not  see  him ;  he  was  look 
ing  past  him  up  the  steps  to  where  Miss 
Cameron  stood  in  the  shadow. 
187 


The  Vagrant 

Sir  Charles  hesitated  and  drew  back.  The 
young  man  stopped  at  the  foot  of  the  steps, 
and  stood  with  his  head  raised,  staring  up  at 
the  white  figure  of  the  girl,  who  came  slowly 
forward. 

It  was  forced  upon  Sir  Charles  that  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  young  man  before 
them  had  but  just  then  been  rescued  from 
arrest,  that  in  spite  of  his  mean  garments  and 
ragged  sandals,  something  about  him  —  the 
glamour  that  surrounds  the  prodigal,  or  pos 
sibly  the  moonlight  —  gave  him  an  air  of 
great  dignity  and  distinction. 

As  Miss  Cameron  descended  the  stairs,  Sir 
Charles  recognized  for  the  first  time  that  the 
young  man  was  remarkably  handsome,  and 
he  resented  it.  It  hurt  him,  as  did  also  the 
prodigal's  youth  and  his  assured  bearing. 
He  felt  a  sudden  sinking  fear,  a  weakening 
of  all  his  vital  forces,  and  he  drew  in  his 
breath  slowly  and  deeply.  But  no  one  noticed 
him ;  they  were  looking  at  the  tall  figure  of 
the  prodigal,  standing  with  his  hat  at  his  hip 
and  his  head  thrown  back,  holding  the  girl 
with  his  eyes. 

Collier  touched  Sir  Charles  on  the  arm, 
188 


:.    ft; 


The  young  man  stood  staring  up  at  the  white  figure  of  the  girl. 


The  Vagrant 

and  nodded  his  head  towards  the  library. 
"  Come/'  he  whispered,  "  let  us  old  people 
leave  them  together.  They  Ve  a  good  deal 
to  say."  Sir  Charles  obeyed  in  silence,  and 
crossing  the  library  to  the  great  oak  chair, 
seated  himself  and  leaned  wearily  on  the 
table  before  him.  He  picked  up  one  of  the 
goose  quills  and  began  separating  it  into  little 
pieces.  Mr.  Collier  was  pacing  up  and  down, 
biting  excitedly  on  the  end  of  his  cigar. 
"  Well,  this  has  certainly  been  a  great  night," 
he  said.  "  And  it  is  all  due  to  you,  Sir 
Charles  —  all  due  to  you.  Yes,  they  have 
you  to  thank  for  it." 

"  They?  "  said  Sir  Charles.  He  knew  that 
it  had  to  come.  He  wanted  the  man  to  strike 
quickly. 

"They?  Yes  —  Florence  Cameron  and 
Henry,"  Mr.  Collier  answered.  "  Henry  went 
away  because  she  would  n't  marry  him.  She 
did  n't  care  for  him  then,  but  afterwards  she 
cared.  Now  they  're  reunited,  —  and  so 
they're  happy;  and  my  wife  is  more  than 
happy,  and  I  won't  have  to  bother  any 
more ;  and  it 's  all  right,  and  all  through 
you." 

189 


The  Vagrant 

"  I  am  glad,"  said  Sir  Charles.  There  was 
a  long  pause,  which  the  men,  each  deep  in 
his  own  thoughts,  did  not  notice. 

"You  will  be  leaving  now,  I  suppose?" 
Sir  Charles  asked.  He  was  looking  down, 
examining  the  broken  pen  in  his  hand. 

Mr.  Collier  stopped  in  his  walk  and  con 
sidered.  "  Yes,  I  suppose  they  will  want  to 
get  back,"  he  said.  "  I  shall  be  sorry  my 
self.  And  you  ?  What  will  you  do  ?  " 

Sir  Charles  started  slightly.  He  had  not 
yet  thought  what  he  would  do.  His  eyes 
wandered  over  the  neglected  work,  which 
had  accumulated  on  the  desk  before  him. 
Only  an  hour  before  he  had  thought  of  it  as 
petty  and  little,  as  something  unworthy  of  his 
energy.  Since  that  time  what  change  had 
taken  place  in  him? 

For  him  everything  had  changed,  he  an 
swered,  but  in  him  there  had  been  no  change ; 
and  if  this  thing  which  the  girl  had  brought 
into  his  life  had  meant  the  best  in  life,  it 
must  always  mean  that.  She  had  been  an 
inspiration;  she  must  remain  his  spring  of 
action.  Was  he  a  slave,  he  asked  himself, 
that  he  should  rebel?  Was  he  a  boy,  that 
190 


The  Vagrant 

he  could  turn  his  love  to  aught  but  the 
best  account?  He  must  remember  her  not 
as  the  woman  who  had  crushed  his  spirit, 
but  as  she  who  had  helped  him,  who  had 
lifted  him  up  to  something  better  and  finer. 
He  would  make  sacrifice  in  her  name; 
it  would  be  in  her  name  that  he  would 
rise  to  high  places  and  accomplish  much 
good. 

She  would  not  know  this,  but  he  would 
know. 

He  rose  and  brushed  the  papers  away 
from  him  with  an  impatient  sweep  of  the 
hand. 

"  I  shall  follow  out  the  plan  of  which  I 
spoke  at  dinner,"  he  answered.  "  I  shall 
resign  here,  and  return  home  and  enter 
Parliament." 

Mr.  Collier  laughed  admiringly.  "  I  love 
the  way  you  English  take  your  share  of  pub 
lic  life,"  he  said,  "  the  way  you  spend  your 
selves  for  your  country,  and  give  your  brains, 
your  lives,  everything  you  have — all  for  the 
empire." 

Through  the  open  window  Sir  Charles  saw 
Miss  Cameron  half  hidden  by  the  vines  of 
191 


The  Vagrant 

the  veranda.  The  moonlight  falling  about 
her  transformed  her  into  a  figure  which  was 
ideal,  mysterious,  and  elusive,  like  a  woman 
in  a  dream.  He  shook  his  head  wearily. 
"For  the  empire?"  he  asked. 


192 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

A     SKETCH     CONTAINING     THREE 
POINTS    OF     VIEW 

What  the  Poet  Laureate  wrote. 

"  >TnHERE  are  girls  in  the  Gold  Reef  City 

-••   There  are  mothers  and  children  too  ! 
And  they  cry  '  Hurry  up  for  pity ! ' 
So  what  can  a  brave  man  do? 

"  I  suppose  we  were  wrong,  were  mad  men, 
Still  I  think  at  the  Judgment  Day, 

When  God  sifts  the  good  from  the  bad  men, 
There  '11  be  something  more  to  say." 

What  more  the  Lord  Chief  Justice  found 
to  say. 

"In  this  case  we  know  the  immediate  con 
sequence  of  your  crime.     It  has  been  the  loss 
'3  193 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

of  human  life,  it  has  been  the  disturbance  of 
public  peace,  it  has  been  the  creation  of  a 
certain  sense  of  distrust  of  public  professions 
and  of  public  faith.  .  .  .  The  sentence  of  this 
Court  therefore  is  that,  as  to  you,  Leander 
Starr  Jameson,  you  be  confined  for  a  period 
of  fifteen  months  without  hard  labor;  that 
you,  Sir  John  Willoughby,  have  ten  months' 
imprisonment;  and  that  you,  etc.,  etc." 

London  Times,  July  29th. 

What  the  Hon.  "  Reggie  "  Blake  thought 
about  it. 

"H.  M.  HOLLOWAY  PRISON, 
"  July  28th. 

"  I  am  going  to  keep  a  diary  while  I  am  in 
prison,  that  is,  if  they  will  let  me.  I  never 
kept  one  before  because  I  hadn't  the  time; 
when  I  was  home  on  leave  there  was  too 
much  going  on  to  bother  about  it,  and  when 
I  was  up  country  I  always  came  back  after  a 
day's  riding  so  tired  that  I  was  too  sleepy  to 
write  anything.  And  now  that  I  have  the 
time,  I  won't  have  anything  to  write  about. 
I  fancy  that  more  things  happened  to  me  to- 
194 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

day  than  are  likely  to  happen  again  for  the 
next  eight  months,  so  I  will  make  this  day 
take  up  as  much  room  in  the  diary  as  it  can. 
I  am  writing  this  on  the  back  of  the  paper 
the  Warder  uses  for  his  official  reports,  while 
he  is  hunting  up  cells  to  put  us  in.  We  came 
down  on  him  rather  unexpectedly  and  he  is 
nervous. 

"  Of  course,  I  had  prepared  myself  for  this 
after  a  fashion,  but  now  I  see  that  somehow  I 
never  really  did  think  I  would  be  in  here,  and 
all  my  friends  outside,  and  everything  going 
on  just  the  same  as  though  I  wasn't  alive 
somewhere.  It's  like  telling  yourself  that 
your  horse  can't  possibly  pull  off  a  race,  so 
that  you  won't  mind  so  much  if  he  does  n't, 
but  you  always  feel  just  as  bad  when  he 
comes  in  a  loser.  A  man  can't  fool  him 
self  into  thinking  one  way  when  he  is  hoping 
the  other. 

"  But  I  am  glad  it  is  over,  and  settled.  It 
was  a  great  bore  not  knowing  your  luck  and 
having  the  thing  hanging  over  your  head 
every  morning  when  you  woke  up.  Indeed 
it  was  quite  a  relief  when  the  counsel  got  all 
through  arguing  over  those  proclamations, 
'95 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

and  the  Chief  Justice  summed  up,  but  I 
nearly  went  to  sleep  when  I  found  he  was 
going  all  over  it  again  to  the  jury.  I  did  n't 
understand  about  those  proclamations  my 
self  and  I'll  lay  a  fiver  the  jury  didn't  either. 
The  Colonel  said  he  did  n't.  I  could  n't  keep 
my  mind  on  what  Russell  was  explaining 
about,  and  I  got  to  thinking  how  much  old 
Justice  Hawkins  looked  like  the  counsel  in 
'  Alice  in  Wonderland '  when  they  tried  the 
knave  of  spades  for  stealing  the  tarts.  He 
had  just  the  same  sort  of  a  beak  and  the  same 
sort  of  a  wig,  and  I  wondered  why  he  had  his 
wig  powdered  and  the  others  did  n't.  Pol 
lock's  wig  had  a  hole  in  the  top ;  you  could 
see  it  when  he  bent  over  to  take  notes.  He 
was  always  taking  notes.  I  don't  believe  he 
understood  about  those  proclamations  either; 
he  never  seemed  to  listen,  anyway. 

"The  Chief  Justice  certainly  didn't  love 
us  very  much,  that's  sure;  and  he  wasn't 
going  to  let  anybody  else  love  us  either.  I 
felt  quite  the  Christian  Martyr  when  Sir 
Edward  was  speaking  in  defence.  He  made 
it  sound  as  though  we  were  all  a  lot  of 
Adelphi  heroes  and  ought  to  be  promoted 
196 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

and  have  medals,  but  when  Lord  Russell 
started  in  to  read  the  Riot  Act  at  us  I  began 
to  believe  that  hanging  was  too  good  for  me. 
I  'm  sure  I  never  knew  I  was  disturbing  the 
peace  of  nations;  it  seems  like  such  a  large 
order  for  a  subaltern. 

"But  the  worst  was  when  they  made  us 
stand  up  before  all  those  people  to  be  sen 
tenced.  I  must  say  I  felt  shaky  about  the 
knees  then,  not  because  I  was  afraid  of  what 
was  coming,  but  because  it  was  the  first  time 
I  had  ever  been  pointed  out  before  people, 
and  made  to  feel  ashamed.  And  having 
those  girls  there,  too,  looking  at  one.  That 
was  n't  just  fair  to  us.  It  made  me  feel 
about  ten  years  old,  and  I  remembered  how 
the  Head  Master  used  to  call  me  to  his  desk 
and  say,  '  Blake  Senior,  two  pages  of  Horace 
and  keep  in  bounds  for  a  week. '  And  then 
I  heard  our  names  and  the  months,  and  my 
name  and  '  eight  months'  imprisonment,' 
and  there  was  a  bustle  and  murmur  and  the 
tipstaves  cried,  '  Order  in  the  Court, '  and 
the  Judges  stood  up  and  shook  out  their 
big  red  skirts  as  though  they  were  shaking 
off  the  contamination  of  our  presence  and 
197 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

rustled  away,  and  I  sat  down,  wondering 
how  long  eight  months  was,  and  wishing 
they  'd  given  me  as  much  as  they  gave 
Jameson. 

"They  put  us  in  a  room  together  then, 
and  our  counsel  said  how  sorry  they  were, 
and  shook  hands,  and  went  off  to  dinner  and 
left  us.  I  thought  they  might  have  waited 
with  us  and  been  a  little  late  for  dinner  just 
that  once;  but  no  one  waited  except  a  lot  of 
costers  outside  whom  we  did  not  know.  It 
was  eight  o'clock  and  still  quite  light  when 
we  came  out,  and  there  was  a  line  of  four- 
wheelers  and  a  hansom  ready  for  us.  I  'd 
been  hoping  they  would  take  us  out  by  the 
Strand  entrance,  just  because  I  'd  like  to 
have  seen  it  again,  but  they  marched  us 
instead  through  the  main  quadrangle  —  a 
beastly,  gloomy  courtyard  that  echoed,  and 
out,  into  Carey  Street  —  such  a  dirty,  gloomy 
street.  The  costers  and  clerks  set  up  a  sort 
of  a  cheer  when  we  came  out,  and  one  of 
them  cried,  'God  bless  you,  sir,'  to  the 
doctor,  but  I  was  sorry  they  cheered.  It 
seemed  like  kicking  against  the  umpire's 
decision.  The  Colonel  and  I  got  into  a 
198 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

hansom  together  and  we  trotted  off  into 
Chancery  Lane  and  turned  into  Holborn. 
Most  of  the  shops  were  closed,  and  the 
streets  looked  empty,  but  there  was  a  lighted 
clock-face  over  Mooney's  public-house,  and 
the  hands  stood  at  a  quarter  past  eight.  I 
didn't  know  where  Holloway  was,  and  was 
hoping  they  would  have  to  take  us  through 
some  decent  streets  to  reach  it;  but  we 
did  n't  see  a  part  of  the  city  that  meant 
anything  to  me,  or  that  I  would  choose  to 
travel  through  again. 

"Neither  of  us  talked,  and  I  imagined  that 
the  people  in  the  streets  knew  we  were 
going  to  prison,  and  I  kept  my  eyes  on  the 
enamel  card  on  the  back  of  the  apron.  I 
suppose  I  read,  '  Two-wheeled  hackney  car 
riage:  if  hired  and  discharged  within  the 
four-mile  limit,  is.'  at  least  a  hundred 
times.  I  got  more  sensible  after  a  bit,  and 
when  we  had  turned  into  Gray's  Inn  Road  I 
looked  up  and  saw  a  tram  in  front  of  us  with 
'  Holloway  Road  and  King's  X,'  painted  on 
the  steps,  and  the  Colonel  saw  it  about  the 
same  time  I  fancy,  for  we  each  looked  at  the 
other,  and  the  Colonel  raised  his  eyebrows. 
199 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

It  showed  us  that  at  least  the  cabman  knew 
where  we  were  going. 

" '  They  might  have  taken  us  for  a  turn 
through  the  West  End  first,  I  think,'  the 
Colonel  said.  *  I  'd  like  to  have  had  a  look 
around,  would  n't  you?  This  is  n't  a  cheer 
ful  neighborhood,  is  it?' 

"There  were  a  lot  of  children  playing  in 
St.  Andrew's  Gardens,  and  a  crowd  of  them 
ran  out  just  as  we  passed,  shrieking  and 
laughing  over  nothing,  the  way  kiddies  do, 
and  that  was  about  the  only  pleasant  sight 
in  the  ride.  I  had  quite  a  turn  when  we 
came  to  the  New  Hospital  just  beyond,  for  I 
thought  it  was  Holloway,  and  it  came  over 
me  what  eight  months  in  such  a  place  meant. 
I  believe  if  I  had  n't  pulled  myself  up  sharp, 
I  'd  have  jumped  out  into  the  street  and 
run  away.  It  didn't  last  more  than  a  few 
seconds,  but  I  don't  want  any  more  like 
them.  I  was  afraid,  afraid  —  there  's  no  use 
pretending  it  was  anything  else.  I  was  in 
a  dumb,  silly  funk,  and  I  turned  sick  inside 
and  shook,  as  I  have  seen  a  horse  shake 
when  he  shies  at  nothing  and  sweats  and 
trembles  down  his  sides. 
200 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

"  During  those  few  seconds  it  seemed  to 
be  more  than  I  could  stand;  I  felt  sure  that 
I  could  n't  do  it  —  that  I  'd  go  mad  if  they 
tried  to  force  me.  The  idea  was  so  terrible 
—  of  not  being  master  over  your  own  legs 
and  arms,  to  have  your  flesh  and  blood  and 
what  brains  God  gave  you  buried  alive  in 
stone  walls  as  though  they  were  in  a  safe 
with  a  time-lock  on  the  door  set  for  eight 
months  ahead.  There  's  nothing  to  be  afraid 
of  in  a  stone  wall  really,  but  it  's  the  idea  of 
the  thing  —  of  not  being  free  to  move  about, 
especially  to  a  chap  that  has  always  lived  in 
the  open  as  I  have,  and  has  had  men  under 
him.  It  was  no  wonder  I  was  in  a  funk  for 
a  minute.  I  '11  bet  a  fiver  the  others  were, 
too,  if  they  '11  only  own  up  to  it.  I  don't 
mean  for  long,  but  just  when  the  idea  first 
laid  hold  of  them.  Anyway,  it  was  a  good 
lesson  to  me,  and  if  I  catch  myself  thinking 
of  it  again  I  '11  whistle,  or  talk  to  myself 
out  loud  and  think  of  something  cheerful. 
And  I  don't  mean  to  be  one  of  those  chaps 
who  spends  his  time  in  jail  counting  the 
stones  in  his  cell,  or  training  spiders,  or 
measuring  how  many  of  his  steps  make  a 

201 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

mile,  for  madness  lies  that  way.  I  mean  to 
sit  tight  and  think  of  all  the  good  times 
I  've  had,  and  go  over  them  in  my  mind  very 
slowly,  so  as  to  make  them  last  longer  and 
remember  who  was  there  and  what  we  said, 
and  the  jokes  and  all  that;  I  '11  go  over 
house-parties  I  have  been  on,  and  the  times 
I  've  had  in  the  Riviera,  and  scouting  parties 
Dr.  Jim  led  up  country  when  we  were  taking 
Matabele  Land. 

"They  say  that  if  you  're  good  here  they 
give  you  things  to  read  after  a  month  or  two, 
and  then  I  can  read  up  all  those  instructive 
books  that  a  fellow  never  does  read  until 
he  's  laid  up  in  bed. 

"But  that 's  crowding  ahead  a  bit;  I  must 
keep  to  what  happened  to-day.  We  struck 
York  Road  at  the  back  of  the  Great  Western 
Terminus,  and  I  half  hoped  we  might  see 
some  chap  we  knew  coming  or  going  away: 
I  would  like  to  have  waved  my  hand  to  him. 
It  would  have  been  fun  to  have  seen  his  sur 
prise  the  next  morning  when  he  read  in  the 
paper  that  he  had  been  bowing  to  jail-birds, 
and  then  I  would  like  to  have  cheated  the 
tipstaves  out  of  just  one  more  friendly  good- 

202 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

by.  I  wanted  to  say  good-by  to  somebody, 
but  I  really  could  n't  feel  sorry  to  see  the 
last  of  any  one  of  those  we  passed  in  the 
streets  —  they  were  such  a  dirty,  unhappy- 
looking  lot,  and  the  railroad  wall  ran  on 
forever  apparently,  and  we  might  have  been 
in  a  foreign  country  for  all  we  knew  of  it. 
There  were  just  sooty  gray  brick  tenements 
and  gas-works  on  one  side,  arid  the  railroad 
cutting  on  the  other,  and  semaphores  and 
telegraph  wires  overhead,  and  smoke  and 
grime  everywhere,  it  looked  exactly  like  the 
sort  of  street  that  should  lead  to  a  prison, 
and  it  seemed  a  pity  to  take  a  smart  hansom 
and  a  good  cob  into  it. 

"It  was  just  a  bit  different  from  our  last 
ride  together  — •  when  we  rode  through  the 
night  from  Krugers-Dorp  with  hundreds  of 
horses'  hoofs  pounding  on  the  soft  veldt 
behind  us,  and  the  carbines  clanking  against 
the  stirrups  as  they  swung  on  the  sling  belts. 
We  were  being  hunted  then,  harassed  on 
either  side,  scurrying  for  our  lives  like  the 
Derby  Dog  in  a  race-track  when  every  one 
hoots  him  and  no  man  steps  out  to  help  — 
we  were  sick  for  sleep,  sick  for  food,  lashed 
203 


The  Last  Ride  Together 

by  the  rain,  and  we  knew  that  we  were 
beaten;  but  we  were  free  still,  and  under 
open  skies  with  the  derricks  of  the  Rand 
rising  like  gallows  on  our  left,  and  Johannes 
burg  only  fifteen  miles  away." 


204 


A  List  of  Books    By 
Richard  Harding  Davis 

CHARLES     SCRIBNER'S     SONS 

PUBLISHERS 


THE  LION  AND  THE  UNICORN. 
With  six  illustrations  by  H.  C. 
CHRISTY.  i2mo.  #1.25. 

It  is  more  than  three  years  since  Mr.  Davis 
has  published  a  book  of  short  stories,  and  this  volume 
contains  the  work  he  has  done  during  this  time. 
They  are  stories  of  War  and  Peace,  including,  in 
addition  to  the  title  one,  "On  a  Fever  Ship,"  "The 
Man  With  One  Talent,"  "The  Vagrant,"  and 
"The  Last  Ride  Together."  In  this  book  Mr.  Davis 
returns  to  the  scenes  of  his  early  successes. 

NOVELS    AND    STORIES.      New 

edition,  in  six  volumes,  each  with 
photogravure  frontispiece.  Sold  only 
in  sets.  Limp  olive  leather,  gilt 
tops,  small  i6mo.  $6.00,  net. 

In  response  to  the  popular  demand  this  uniform 
edition,  in  small  tasteful  form,  of  novels  and  stories 
by  Mr.  Davis,  has  been  prepared.  No  pains  have 
been  spared  to  give  the  set  the  stamp  of  the  highest 
artistic  manufacture.  The  volumes  included  are : 
"Gallegher,"  "Soldiers  of  Fortune"  (two  vol 
umes),  "  Cinderella,"  "  The  King's  Jackal,"  and  Mr. 
Davis' s  new  book,  "The  Lion  and  the  Unicorn." 


A  LIST  OF  BOOKS 


THE  CUBAN  AND  PORTO 
RICAN  CAMPAIGNS.  With 
many  illustrations  from  photographs 
and  drawings.  'Twentieth  Thousand. 
Crown  8vo.  $1.50. 

This  is  much  the  most  vivid  and  readable  of  all 
the  books  on  the  war  that  have  appeared  so  far,  and 
it  is  full  of  life  and  color  and  incidents  that  show  the 
sort  of  stuff  of  which  our  soldiers  were  made.  Not 
even  the  multitudes  of  interesting  pictures  in  the  book 
can  distract  attention  from  the  text,  which  is  saying 
a  good  deal.  To  the  very  last  line,  the  book  is  written 
with  a  keenness,  a  vivacity,  a  skill  and  a  power  to  thrill 
and  to  leave  an  impression  which  mark  a  decided  ad 
vance  over  anything  that  even  Mr.  Davis  has  written 
heretofore.  —  Boston  Herald. 

THE  KING'S  JACKAL.  With 
illustrations  and  a  cover  design  by 
C.  D.  GIBSON.  Twenty-fifth  Thou 
sand.  i2mo.  $1.25. 

Mr.  Davis  has  vigorous  ideals  —  he  is  in  love 
with  strength  and  cleanness,  with  "  grit  "and  resource, 
with  heroism  and  courage  in  men  ;  with  beauty  and 
frankness,  with  freshness  and  youth  in  women ;  and, 
liking  these  qualities,  he  also  likes  writing  about  them. 
Hence,  to  those  who  are  of  Mr.  Davis' s  mind  (as  I  am 
for  one),  Mr.  Davis's  books  are  always  welcome. — 
The  Academy. 


BT  RICHARD    HARDING   DAVIS 

SOLDIERS    OF    FORTUNE.     With 
illustrations   and  a  cover    design    by 
C.  D.  GIBSON.    Uniform  with  "  The 
King's  Jackal."       One  Hundred  and 
Thirteenth  Thousand.      I2mo.  $1.50. 
Mr.  Davis  has  produced  a  rousing  tale  of  adven 
ture,  with  several  fine  fellows  in  it,  and  one  woman 
whom  we  are  glad  to  know,  and  who  has  gone  straight 
to    our   hearts   and   made   there  for  herself  a   corner 
that  we  will  keep  warm,  and  to  which  we  will  turn 
with  pleasure  time  and  again  to  love   her  for  all  her 
fine  traits  —  most  of  all,  perhaps,  for  her  genius  for 
camaraderie,  which  found  so  graceful  a  climax  in  the 
kiss  she  imprinted  on  the  forehead  of  the  young  Eng 
lishman  who  had  been  murdered  by  his  own  treach 
erous  troopers.  ...  It  is  not  necessary  to  commend 
this  story,  it  has  won  its  way  already.      But  to  those 
who  have  not  read  it,  we  can  say,  "  Do  so  at  once." 
—  The  Critic. 

GALLEGHER,    AND     OTHER 

STORIES.     With  cover  design  by 

A.  B.  FROST.     Uniform  with  "The 

King's    Jackal,"    and    "Soldiers    of 

Fortune."        Forty-fourth    Thousand. 

I2mo,  paper,  50  cents;  cloth,  $1.00. 

Mr.  Davis' s  stories  are  also  of  the  people  and  for 

the  people  ;   and  their  swift,  concentrated  style  makes 

them   grateful   reading.       Mr.    Davis* s  Fifth   Avenue 

sketches  are  as  unaffected  as  those  of  Cherry  Street.  — 

New  York  Evening  Post. 

3 


A   LIST   OF   BOOKS 


CINDERELLA,  AND  OTHER 
STORIES.  With  cover  design  by 
A.  B.  WENZELL.  Uniform  with  "  The 
King's  Jackal."  I2mo.  $1.00. 

Mr.  Davis*  s  aptitude  for  work  of  this  kind  is 
too  well  known  to  need  commendation.  There  is  a 
freshness  and  brightness  about  this  volume  which  is 
very  attractive,  for  he  is  one  of  the  writers  peculiar  to 
the  period,  to  whom  dulness  would  seem  to  be  impos 
sible.  There  are  five  sketches  in  the  book,  and  each 
is  so  good  in  its  way  that  it  is  not  easy  to  say  which 
is  the  best.  —  Public  Opinion. 

STORIES  FOR  BOYS.  Illustrated. 
I2mo.  $1.00. 

All  the  stories  have  a  verve  and  fire  and  movement 
which  is  just  what  boys  like.  —  Boston  Transcript. 

It  is  a  fact  not  generally  known,  but  neverthe 
less  a  fact,  that  Richard  Harding  Davis  began  his  career 
as  a  weaver  of  stories  for  boys,  his  first  work  appearing 
in  St.  Nicholas.  .  .  These  capital  sketches  have  gen 
uine  interest  of  plot,  a  hearty,  breezy  spirit  of  youth 
and  adventuresomeness  which  will  captivate  the  special 
audience  that  they  are  addressed  to,  and  will  also  inter 
est  older  people.  —  Hartford  Courant. 


Charles  Scribner's  Sons 

/5J-/57   Fifth   Avenue,   New   York. 


LD  2l-100m 


-11/49  (B7l46sl6)476 


.S.SMITH&SONS 

iks,  Pictures,  Games 
.54-1158  Broadway 

f\  *  »-•  „     r>  .  , 


